Muggle At Large
by badholt
Summary: After a freak accident, a disgruntled muggle scientist stumbles into the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Now MACUSA can forget about Obliviating her - once she's discovered magic, she refuses to let it go. Technology meets magic in a dangerous adventure through the Magical Americas that will reinvent what it means to be a "magical" - that is, if she doesn't get caught first...
1. Of Pumpkins & Predictability

« _Foreword_ »

This **canon-compliant** adventure explores the universe of _Harry Potter_ , _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and the lore of _Pottermore_.

The story **begins in the United States** , though it will not stay confined there.

For anyone "on the fence" regarding this story, I recommend reading through _at least the second chapter_. **Action and plot pacing increase with each chapter** as the world becomes more magical.

 _ **Trigger Warnings:** gore, language, violence_

* * *

 **« O N E »**

 _ **Of Pumpkins & Predictability**_

* * *

Alexandra Austin began the thirteenth of October with the distinct lack of vigor that marked every day, as far as she was concerned. She briskly exited her building through the northmost entrance of Avalon Lofts, a conveniently located downtown apartment complex with about as much in common with King Arthur's Camelot as a conclave of tyrannical penguins. Alexandra, or Lex, as she preferred, then plodded thirteen feet down 13th Street and onward through the front doors of her regular coffee shop.

Lex knew of at least three other coffee shops within a single block and had considered patronizing one of these entirely-equivalent establishments instead, if for no other reason than to break up the monotony that had become her life. However, what would be the point? She reasoned that an overpriced coffee from the coffee shop on the corner of 13th and Elm would be just as mediocre and overpriced when purchased from the identical store on 14th and Birch. Liquid consumption, like everything else in her life, had become completely redundant.

Approximately seven minutes later, Lex stepped onto 13th Street once more and allowed the door to slam shut behind her with its predictable jingle. As she did practically every morning, Lex had ordered ahead to avoid standing idle any longer than was absolutely necessary. Today, however, Harold, an apparent new hire, had taken twice as long as necessary to make her the _wrong_ order.

After a mildly frustrating exchange in which she and Harold each competed to be the most agreeable about this coffee mishap, Harold finally allowed Lex to accept a nearly-scalding, and ultimately free, cup of Pumpkin Spice Latte. Lex gave Harold a 50-cent barista tip in spite of the delay. After all - it _was_ her birthday.

Carefully sipping her latte, Lex stood idly at the busy street corner. She stared so intently at the pedestrian crossing signal across the street that an outside observer might have thought, for all the world, that the crossing signal's illuminated red hand was the most interesting thing in Lex's life.

You see, Lex had developed an unhealthy habit of withdrawing until the insistent world once again dragged her out of her reverie. Between point A and point B, Lex would escape into the numerous fantastical stories within her head, only resurfacing when some minor course-correction or mindless social interaction was needed. Indeed, at some point the worlds within her had become more rewarding than the world without…

She hadn't always been so detached from reality, of course. Once upon a time, Lex had been arrogant and proud, with a talent to back it up. She had been raised to believe in the spectacular rewards that hard work and genius might provide. And, more importantly, she had been raised to believe that it all _mattered_. Her father had once remarked that she had a "mind like a bulldog," because she'd latch onto her goals and refuse to let go.

No one said that about her anymore.

As her thoughts lazily wandered back into more realistic territories, she mused over her current mental state. When had she become this zombie? When did life become this bleak, bland haze? Her thoughts quickly spiraled downward into an abyss of hopelessness. She thought of all the illusions that had crumbled and all the nightmares that had taken their place. More than anything she wanted something to believe in again. There had to be something more than this… A fleeting moment of pain struck her as she thought of all she had lost.

 _Please, let there be something more_ , she cried soundlessly.

She imagined the plea being released from her aching chest, flung through the atmosphere, and achieving escape velocity, only to forever drift through the endless universe beyond.

 _A plea… Almost like a prayer…_ Lex mused, before quickly swatting that analogy aside.

Spirituality was yet another casualty of her tortured existence - and, _for God's sake_ , she didn't even know if she had a soul! Her face miserably contorted as she held back tears, but any passerby would simply assume that Lex found her Pumpkin Spice Latte distasteful rather than her own existential ignorance of the meaning of life.

 _Ugh!_

Only a few minutes waiting for the traffic lights to change, and already she was lost in her inner anguish! This is why Alexandra Austin didn't idle any longer than necessary. This is why Alexandra Austin's mind was now less like a bulldog and more like the bulldog's tender chow. Lex had once believed that reality mattered and that she could change it, and then… reality bit back.

At 9:13 AM on October 13, 2016, a young lean auburn-haired woman crossed Elm street as she begged the universe for perhaps the millionth time to let there be something _more_. And on this day, which she considered just as mundane and unfulfilling as the last, something spectacular happened… the universe answered.

* * *

Mike Herrera began the thirteenth of October in a characteristic fit of rage. In fact, none of his acquaintances would have been surprised to see his glowering face speeding down Elm Street in his ruby red Ferrari, rudely gesturing at his fellow drivers as he committed at least 3 separate traffic violations.

One police officer nearly flipped on her car's siren, before frightfully recognizing the fuming man behind one thick erect middle finger. Mike Herrera was not someone you messed with on a _good_ day, and today was clearly not one of his good days… The young officer decided an encounter with Mike was not worth the relatively small monetary donation a speeding ticket would raise for the police department. Thus, she carefully rolled her police car back into the shadows of the small alley, which happened to be perfect for ambushing unsuspecting vehicles.

Once free of the immediate danger, the officer returned her attention to her coffee, where she felt it most belonged. Savoring a sip of warm velvety _caffeinated_ goodness, she justified her actions with the earnest thought _Coffee may cause migraines, but Mike Herrera certainly does!_

Mike had received some rather unpleasant news just that morning. Apparently, his soon-to-be-ex-wife felt it was not enough to take a large sum of his income in the divorce settlement, but now he must also pay extra damages for alleged spousal abuse and infidelity. This did not sit well with Mike. There was nothing he hated more than being forced to take responsibility for something he didn't do - and Mike Herrera was _never_ guilty.

Flooring the gas pedal less than a half-second after the traffic light turned green, Mike flew past the silent police car and across 12th Street. Though it shouldn't have been possible at his current speed, Mike somehow managed to sneer effectively at every worn urban building and its inhabitants. This neighborhood was not up-to-par with Mike's usual demanding standards, and he intended to make it known.

In fact, the only reason Mike had graced a visit to this wretched place was to visit his soon-to-be-ex-mistress. After their rather violent spat this morning, he planned to have her evicted from the apartment he'd been renting for their rendezvous. She had quite-obnoxiously blamed him for some grievance or another. What was wrong with everyone today? Everyone kept telling him to take responsibility, and, no, Mike Herrera did _not_ do responsibility.

"So this is all the gratitude I get from those dirty hoes," Mike spat bitterly as he pumped hard on the gas pedal.

 _WHAM!_

At 9:13 AM on October 13, 2016, an angry, albeit handsome, Panamanian man with a Bluetooth tanline accelerated straight over a young lean auburn-haired woman crossing Elm street as she begged the universe for perhaps the millionth time to let there be something _more_.

Mike Herrera's engine idled for exactly three seconds, while an expression of bastardized fear and sympathy flitted across his fine features. This rare moment of concern plastered upon the face of a man whom Alexandra Austin would no doubt dub "completely predictable" lasted for exactly two seconds, before Mike Herrera finally remembered the kind of day he was having. Mike decided that "two bitches worth of problems" was already enough, thank you very much. In fact, he had reached his quota for the foreseeable future, and if there was one thing Mike Herrera knew, it was that he did _not_ do responsibility.

Mike sped away, Ferrari tires squealing, while clouds of muffler exhaust floated over the gruesome scene he left in his wake. Deep crimson pools of blood swirled into the scalding-hot puddle of mediocre Pumpkin Spice Latte splashed across the pavement. The gory mixture soaked into the broken woman's jagged bones, matted auburn hair, and torn golden skin. Little did Mike know that the universe had just granted him a supporting role in what was perhaps the most spectacular event of Alexandra Austin's soon-to-be-spectacular life.

* * *

Lex retained just enough mental awareness to silently observe through blurred vision the stereotypical position in which she found herself. Hospital staff leaned over her, fussing as they anxiously wheeled her down a bland hospital corridor. Wheels squeaked over what was most likely linoleum flooring, while beige ceiling tiles flew by overhead. The tiles were partially obscured by three masked people draped in mint green scrubs. A man in a white jacket hovered about her feet as he trotted after her cart, periodically glancing down at his clipboard.

"Let's see… Alexandra Austin… Oh, _no!_ It's her _birthday_ ," a silky male voice crooned.

Despite the searing pain in what she could best identify as her "bones," Lex inwardly groaned at the man's comment. Was it ever a good day to get hit by a car? Gee, you see a broken bleeding body and _naturally_ the most disturbing part is that it's that body's _birthday_ …

Lex had grown accustomed to pain over the years. However, it had been quite a while since she'd experienced a pain so overwhelmingly physical. Agony enveloped her like a scratchy blanket, and she felt the most accurate analogue of her current sensory state was probably "suffocating while traveling through a wood chipper."

Meanwhile, amidst the background noise of this extremely plain hospital, somebody was gasping on loop. It was a horrible desperate sucking noise that Lex wished would stop immediately. Of course, about a minute later, Lex realized that the sucking somebody was Lex… Her chest was shuddering uncontrollably against a plastic-wrapped cushion, the plastic's flimsy whooshing sound mingling in morbid symphony with her hyperventilation.

Her body had seemingly abandoned her mind and taken on one of its own. However, the loss of control didn't bother her quite as much as the growing numbness. Where her body wasn't screaming in terror, there was a cold absence slowly spreading across her limbs. As this lack of feeling spread, the sensation of pain draining away with all the rest, Lex's heart sunk in her crushed and flattened chest. Through some quirk of evolution, her body knew. It just _knew_ \- she was dying.

Vaguely aware that the motion of the cart had stopped, Lex's eyelids collapsed wearily as her consciousness faded into a silent, predictable darkness.

Immeasurable moments of time slipped past, before Lex's consciousness slowly returned. Her heavy eyelids grappled with gravity for one last sight of the outside world. Everything internal and external seemed to be fading away, as if she were a human shopping mall at closing time. Inside her emptied stores were closing down one by one, lights flickering off, metal grates screeching towards the floor.

A warm rough hand brushed lightly over what was left of Lex's palm, and amidst a cacophony of panicked internal voices, a hushed voice whispered, _Is this the last contact I'll have with another human being?_

Lex had thought often of death, the possibility of nonexistence always terrifying. Now, as she faced that vast uncertain abyss, she knew that she wasn't ready to die - no matter how painful it was to keep on breathing. In a burst of desperation, her eyelids beat back lethargy one last time.

Success.

As if she were mentally treading water in an endless stormy sea, her dying brain struggled to capture and process as much of her final scene as possible.

A man in a white lab coat stooped over her, his hands busy with one of the many tubes extending from her body. His cool blue eyes twinkled as the corners of his lips extended upwards into a gentle smile. Every detail, from the flaring of his nostrils to the way light bounces about moist human corneas seemed infinitely important, despite her certainty that these observations would die with her in mere milliseconds.

As her eyelids banished her to drown in the darkness once more, the man brushed her hand a second time and whispered in a voice soft as silk, "Happy birthday, Alexandra."

* * *

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

 _Beep. Beep._

Lex's ears were first to wake. There were distant voices, hidden behind beeps and hisses that were steadily emitted from what sounded like a mechanical pump. In fact, as she listened more carefully, Lex was quite certain she could identify the functions of several machines within the room, though her knowledge of the medical terminology merely extended to "vital signs monitor" and "air pump thingy."

A burning passion for science had once powered Lex through a degree and into her current occupation. However, that passion had died away along with everything else… Now the knowledge merely persisted where the spark had long since faded and left a hollow echo of the woman she once was.

Somewhere between musing over the nature of consciousness and how her decision to become a female engineer most likely assisted in the decline of her social life, Alexandra Austin made a startling discovery. She was thinking.

This discovery led to yet another startling discovery - she wasn't dead yet.

Initiating a full-body scan, Lex determined that not only was she very much alive, but her torso felt less crushed and her limbs felt less numb than before. With renewed vigor, her eyelids finally fluttered open.

She was indeed in a hospital bed, tubes protruding from her body in every direction, as if she was about to enter _The Matrix_. Hanging on the wall past her feet was a square picture frame filled with a stock photo of a beagle contemplating a dandelion. Lex surmised that the beagle must be deliberating over what wish might possibly provide it the highest net-gain of subjective satisfaction and, perhaps, mulling over whether or not putting its faith in the reproductive cells of a flower made a statement on the hopelessness of the canine condition.

By the time Lex had finished analyzing the beagle, the heart rate monitor in the room was sounding quite alarmed and the distant voices in the hallway were sounding less distant. Lex would have sighed in exasperation was there not a feeding tube currently shoved down her esophagus. From the cries of _Doctor, Doctor, she's awake!_ to the dramatic beeps of the machine at her bedside, the scene was just too utterly predictable.

 _Leave it to me to bored by my own near-death_ , she thought grimly.

The only thing missing from this otherwise-cliché scene was a table or chair full of balloons, flowers, and "Get Well" cards.

This realization cut through Lex's heart with surgical precision, her chest clenching from the emotional pain of her darkest nightmares come alive. She had almost died… and no one had noticed.

It took several days for the hospital staff to locate and contact Lex's immediate family. Another couple of days passed, and then Lex practically transformed into a human telemarketing center, fielding calls from both immediate and extended family members. Each relative gave their sincerest apologies for their absence in _what must have been_ a tragic event. She politely accepted their profuse apologies and plethora of excuses, and, of course, politely thanked her parents for footing the medical bill.

Over the course of the next week, Lex was poked, prodded, scanned, and subjected to the horrors of telenovelas and artificially-flavored hospital food. By the end of the week, she still wasn't sure which was more bland between the food and the decor.

Still, she was lucky to be alive - a "miracle" they had called it. Her feeding tube had been removed just days after her initial awakening. She soon graduated to solid edibles and sensational visits to the adjoining bathroom, where she could honestly say that she'd never been so grateful for a toilet.

Lex learned that it had taken two surgeries and a full-body blood transfusion to stabilize her vital signs. The hospital's resident urgent care specialist had intervened with the blood transfusion and even donated his own blood. It seemed quite odd, but she wasn't about to criticize him on how he did his job - he clearly was doing _something_ right.

The doctor was still recovering from his large blood donation, but she was promised a visit from him later in the week. Lex looked forward to thanking the man, though she was bitterly aware that he would be her _only_ visitor.

On the morning of Friday, October 21st, Alexandra Austin fidgeted in her overused hospital bed, glowering crankily at the television set bolted to the top-right corner of the cubical room. Why waste a perfectly good ceiling fixture on what is perhaps the _least visible_ location in the room? She wondered mockingly whether or not this was an intentional act, intended to motivate patients to exercise their recovering neck muscles and limbs. Ultimately, she decided in cynicism that the television was placed there simply because someone had been too lazy to move the framed beagle photo.

Lex's inner engineer continuously cringed at the inefficiencies of the hospital's management system, her imagination tormenting her with every inevitable insight into the widespread disorder beyond the confines of this single room. However, her torture by way of inefficiencies and out-of-order _Gilmore Girls_ reruns was mercilessly relieved by the arrival of the urgent care specialist, Lex's selfless savior.

Two raps of thick knuckles against hollow wood drew Lex's attention from Lorelai's latest escapade to the door.

"Why, hello there, Miracle Girl!" boomed a man in a white lab coat.

Dazzling white teeth gleamed behind a weatherman-worthy smile. The man wore his dark hair slicked back, exposing a chiseled jaw and angular features. Lex paused and waited for him to announce _I'm not a doctor, but I play one on TV_.

When the man didn't oblige, she settled for an unenthusiastic _Hello_.

"Hello, hello, Miss Austin," the man continued, oblivious to the fact that he'd now greeted Lex three times, "I'm Doctor Goldstein, M.D. You may have heard my name around the hospital already, but allow me to introduce myself anyway."

Lex gave a brisk nod, wincing at the tenderness of the muscles along her neck. Unfortunately, she had been freed from her neck brace only two days prior.

"Ouch! Careful, careful, little lady - that neck is still tender!" he laughed, while stating the obvious, "We wouldn't want you hurting yourself all over again, now would we? No, no, not after all the effort I've put into putting you back together! You may recall that I donated you several liters worth of blood - not all straight from the vein, of course, but a splendid _birthday_ present, nonetheless."

Goldstein placed particular emphasis on the word "birthday," as if Lex hadn't actually been staying in a hospital this whole time, but rather on a cruise ship - _and_ he'd just gifted her the ship.

Lex easily determined that she distinctly disliked this Goldstein. She hadn't always been cynical and mistrusting, but after a handful of betrayals and heartbreaks one learns to identify the warning signs when presented. Dr. Goldstein exuded an undeniable air of self-importance, practically feeding off of every affirmation of his high status and good deeds. Quite predictably, he had paused expectantly at her bedside, awaiting her earnest agreement and validation.

She nodded slowly, wincing each time her chin neared her chest. However, Dr. Goldstein seemed to care significantly less about the "hurting yourself" part of his previous statement and significantly more about recognition for what a splendid "giver" he was. Ignoring her discomfort, he continued on with his speech.

"I've developed quite the reputation around the hospital and, dare I say, the country as a miracle worker, and, might I say, you have been my most successful case to date. Why, when you came to me, your limbs mangled, organs failing, blood almost entirely drained, no one could have expected you'd live until noon! But I said, _Goldstein, today is the day to work your magic_ ," he chuckled softly before resuming his monologue, "and, lo and behold, I did! Let it never be said that Goldstein doesn't give all! Now, I know you must be gushing with gratitude, Miss Austin, but believe you me - knowing I saved another human life is all the gratitude I need."

Lex _was_ grateful - life being important and all - but her cynicism could not ignore the obvious signals that this man's "charity" had nothing to do with her or her life. Dr. Goldstein's every expression and intonation seemed better-suited to a man who had just splinted a baby bird's wing or pulled a cat out of a tree than a man addressing a human being who'd just suffered extreme blunt force trauma. The way he spoke, he must have imagined himself a god, tending to a crowd of wretched animals and saving lives on a whim.

"Now, Miss Austin," Goldstein began seriously, his face growing stern and his silky voice dropping to a serious whisper, "I couldn't help but notice that no one has bothered to send you so much as a card. I only save lives, but even _I_ can't change the cards you're dealt. You may feel alone, but as you go forth into the world, I'd like to think that a part of me goes with you… At least, for the next month or so. Until your blood replaces mine, you see."

He laughed heartily at his own "joke" before assuming a valiant pose to help Lex down the hall. The thought of any part of this man inside her was disturbing to say the least, but she endured his incessant chatter the rest of the way to patient checkout. After he'd signed some paperwork, flirted with the desk attendant, and repeated his story to the enthralled woman, Lex offered Goldstein her sincerest thanks. This earned a series of hearty slaps on a particularly painful portion of her back. Needless to say, Lex was entirely relieved when Dr. Goldstein finally departed.

Gathering up her personal effects and avoiding a glance at the treatment charge receipt for as long as possible, Lex trudged out the sliding glass doors at the main entrance of the ultrabland hospital. Tears welled in her eyes as she caught sight of her own reflection in the glass.

Her face was blackened and swollen, bruises covering over half of her face. Separated by a puffy nose, her usually-bright honey-colored eyes appeared dull and glazed. No wonder her personal bathroom had lacked mirrors…

Lex was not a vain woman, but she had never before faced what it truly meant to be "ugly." As she walked down the busy street, people either gaped in open disgust or discreetly attempted to avoid staring. She immediately regretted not calling a cab from the reception desk.

In yet another miracle of life, Lex's cellphone had survived the crash unscathed, but alas, it had been returned to her battery uncharged. Thus, even if there was someone she felt comfortable calling for immediate evacuation, she was currently incapable. Without her smartphone's GPS, without a map, and, high on painkillers, Lex had to admit it - ugh, she was lost.

Several minutes later, Lex was immensely grateful that she lived in a city. It had only been a short walk to a bustling shopping center, and from there it was a simple matter to find a clothing store peddling a set of fuzzy earmuffs, a scarf, and a knit beanie cap. The woman behind the register gave Lex a sympathetic smile as Lex immediately pulled off the tags and stuffed the lot over her head.

Then, feeling much less uncomfortable, Lex strode down several winding lanes until she finally stumbled upon a cozy coffee shop. She had almost missed it, as it lay off of the main road, tucked away inside an alley. However, the shop's outlandish decor easily compensated for the shop's unfortunate location.

A series of inviting Jack-O-Lanterns lined both sides of the narrow alleyway, both lines culminating in a fiercely festive storefront at the alley's end. Gorgeous multi-colored spider webs traced from brick walls to a glittering red sign reading "The Bloody Banshee." The words appeared to bubble and sway in the lantern light, as if composed of real blood. Of course, even though the name was less-than-intuitive, Lex could clearly see that the brightly-lit interior was that of a perfectly-average coffee shop.

Plodding down the short alleyway, the building loomed wider and wider as she neared the front door. Lex wondered absently how this city's planners had managed to waste such prime real estate. At least three additional stores could've fit into the wide space at the end of the alley and even more along the alley walls. If only the narrow front of the alley was built as wide as the back…

"Seriously. What is with the architects in this city?" Lex muttered, her voice rasping against her sore throat.

Through several floor-length wooden windows, she spied gleaming countertops, a jolly barista, and modern, granite tables and chairs. All in all, the scene was entirely too familiar. Despite the outside decor, the inside looked just like what she'd expect to see in any of the numerous coffee shops around the block. Sighing at the predictability of it all, she plied open the front door.

Shocked, Lex had to admit it - the scene greeting her was anything but predictable.

Instead of a coffee shop, The Bloody Banshee appeared to be a quaint traditional pub. Although she hadn't noticed any customers through the windows, patrons were everywhere, lounging about long wooden tables and perching atop a line of bar stools surrounding the now-wooden bar.

Even more unexpected, however, was their attire. Halloween festivities were apparently in full swing… One man in starry purple robes and a wizard's hat sat by the bar, chatting merrily with a young lady holding a witch's hat and broom.

Another group of men sat around a table towards the back of the pub, outwardly channeling Van Helsing. They wore long buckle-abundant leather cloaks and thick knee-high boots. These otherwise-impressive cloaks were failing miserably to cover the glinting silver tools and weaponry, which were pocketed and strapped to nearly every reachable limb underneath.

Turning her gaze upwards to a balcony seating area, Lex was fairly certain she locked eyes with a hardcore vampire fan - and not of the _Twilight_ variety. As their eyes met, he scowled indifferently and stuffed a newspaper in front of his face.

A few eyes had darted in her direction when Lex first entered the pub, but the gawkers all casually returned to their conversations. No one appeared to be particularly concerned with Lex and her ridiculous bundle of clothing.

Pulling her coat tighter, Lex ambled over to the bar. It wasn't the coffee shop she was expecting but it'd be rude to just turn and walk out. Besides, wasn't she looking for something less predictable anyway?

"You wouldn't happen to serve Pumpkin Spice Lattes would you?" Lex asked with an uncomfortable chuckle.

The bartender, a gaunt woman with dark brooding eyes, gave Lex a quick once-over and laughed appreciatively, "Well, aren't you darling! I s'pose you didn't have time to change?"

The woman leaned behind the bar and poured an orange liquid into a glass.

"Err… I would have, if I'd known ahead of time," Lex replied, glancing around at all the die-hard Halloween fans, "but the past few days have been kind of crazy, and, well, I guess you could say I'm just not feeling up to it."

Lex was now glad that the scarf was concealing her embarrassed expression in addition to all the bruises.

"That kind of day, huh? What happened? Not this Scourer business, I hope," said the woman, her expression suddenly serious.

She slapped a tankard of orange liquid onto the bar in front of Lex, its contents partially sloshing over the side. Was the bartender always so careless or did this Scourer business really have her that riled up?

Of course, Lex had no idea what a Scourer was, nor did she care. She was more concerned with the mystery drink placed before her. What was it with people mishandling her orders lately? At least Harold had actually waited to receive a drink order. In this instance, Lex hadn't given an order at all - she had simply asked a question. Ugh, she hated it when servers just made assumptions…

Heaving out a deep sigh, Lex went ahead and took a swig from her tankard, hoping to avoid the same pointless and polite discussion she'd had with Harold nearly a week ago. She was pleasantly surprised to taste a rich medley of pumpkins, vanilla, and spice on her tongue.

"That bad, huh?" pressed the woman, her tanned skin stretching taut over her bony, frowning face.

Distracted temporarily by the delicious beverage, Lex briefly wondered if the woman was referring to the drink. However, as she turned her gaze once more to the bartender, Lex quickly revised her previous assumption. She was still on about these Scourers...

Lex tugged her thick scarf down, exposing her battered face, while explaining with mock-cheer, "Let's just say my birthday wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

The woman gasped loudly and brought a bejeweled hand to her chest. Her emerald-green nails were curved long and sharp like claws, and to Lex's surprise, a teary-eyed look of concern crossed the woman's dark features.

Lex hurriedly gulped down a few more mouthfuls of the bright-orange liquid in her mug. Unsurprisingly, drinking was much easier with her face uncovered…

"Oh, darling, I am so sorry," said the woman, her lower lip pouted and her voice wavering slightly, "Those damn Scourers are a plague! A fucking plague! Just when you think it's safe… I barely step foot outside anymore."

Lex shook her head in sympathetic concern, though she had no earthly idea what the woman was referring to. The lady was clearly agitated, and Lex felt it unwise to continue any further with this particular conversation. Under normal circumstances, she would have set her own story straight and politely inquired, _What the hell is a Scourer?_

However, today was no ordinary day. After surviving both a car crash and Dr. Goldstein, Lex was beyond exhausted. She had allotted herself just enough willpower and discipline to charge her phone, obtain a ride home, and make it upstairs to her bed. Thus, after another deep swig from her tankard, Lex eagerly returned to her original business.

She asked as gently as possible, "Miss, do you have any power plugs or a phone charger that I could use?"

Lex was met with a vacant stare. The woman tilted her head to the side, as if the answer would spontaneously fall from her ear.

"I'm sorry, but what's a 'charger'? Phones are no-maj contraptions, aren't they?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"Uh… I'm going to take that as a no…" Lex said, struggling to hide her exasperation from her voice.

Lex was unsure what rock this woman had been living under, but it must have been a very heavy, very thick rock. Standing abruptly from her stool, she pulled her purse out of the disposable plastic "Personal Effects" bag she'd received at the hospital. Then, after crumpling the plastic bag and stuffing it deep inside her purse, she yanked out her wallet.

"I need to get home and rest," Lex stated flatly, "How much do I owe you for the…"

She trailed off as she remembered that, while tasty, she still had no idea what she just drank.

"The pumpkin juice?" the woman finished helpfully.

"Yes, the pumpkin juice," Lex replied with a smile, before covering her face once more with the scarf.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by the bartender. Lex's scarf-covering must have reminded the woman of Scourers, uncharged phones, and other unpleasant things, for the woman immediately took pity on Lex and refused to accept any form of payment.

"Darling, you've had a hard enough day as it is," she finished with a smile, "It's about time someone gave you a break."

The woman's compassion was touching, even if it was somewhat misguided. Not even Lex's family had expressed this much concern over her welfare. Perhaps her friends would've shown her comparable concern… but that would require letting friends back into her life first. And, Lex just wasn't comfortable burdening others with her personal problems.

Tearing up for the second time that day, Lex was overcome by a curiosity she'd thought dead and buried. In yet another unexpected turn of events, on a day already full-to-the-brim with the unexpected, Lex actually felt like connecting with another living soul.

"Thank you so much. I… I can't tell you how…" Lex began, but stopped herself before her feelings gushed out in pathetic discourse, "I'm sorry, Miss. I don't believe I got your name. I'm Alexandra, Alexandra Austin."

"But you can call me Lex," she added as an afterthought.

She was clearly out of practice with the whole "socializing" thing.

"Nice to meet you, Lex," the bartender replied, her eyes crinkling at the corners, "I'm Wyomi Wolfe, overworked owner of this humble establishment."

She bent her tall, thin frame into a sarcastic bow before continuing, her expression softened, "You're always welcome at the Bloody Banshee. Please come back and visit me sometime."

"Thank you again, Wyomi," Lex replied.

She then hurried out the door before anyone could see the warm tears streaming down her face. Perhaps no one would notice while her face was tucked away behind several layers of scarf, but Lex wasn't taking any chances.

Walking briskly down the alley and onto the main road, she allowed herself a moment to wipe away the wet streaks from her eyes. Lex had been raised to avoid emotional displays, especially in public. Unaccustomed to kindness, she had simply been caught unprepared by this sudden swell of positive emotions. Finally, she suppressed her tears, resolved to behave more maturely next time, and proceeded down the main street once more.

It took her an exasperating forty-three minutes to find a traditional cab, since nowadays most people, herself included, used transportation apps in place of taxis. Of course, such applications required a functioning smartphone…

City lights streaked by the cab window as Lex drifted in and out of sleep, her face pressed awkwardly against the glass. She had no idea how long it'd taken to ride home, but she soon awoke to an impatient _Ahem_.

Lex clumsily handed the cab driver his fare, along with a mediocre tip. She then shuffled into the nearest elevator, barrelled through her front door, and collapsed unceremoniously upon her bed. The sun was still high in the sky at 1:04 PM on October 21st of 2016, when Alexandra Austin faded into a blissful and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Consciousness returned to Lex at 6:01 AM on Saturday, October 22nd. Opening her eyes to darkness, Lex marveled at how she had awoken so early. However, recollecting the events of the past week-and-a-half sent her crashing back to reality faster than a ruby-red Ferrari.

Too soon? Lex concluded that if she had to endure the medical fallout of a car crash then she should at least be permitted the privilege of morbidly joking about it…

Meandering over to the bathtub, she lowered her aching body into a steaming bubble bath. She wasn't usually a fan of the floral fragrances one must typically endure in a bubble bath, but at the moment it was too difficult to look at her own body, covered as it was in sickly bruises and thin stitched surgical scars. Yes, while cloaked in bubbles, she could adequately pretend that her body appeared as normal as ever.

While soaking, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous day, The Bloody Banshee in particular. Speaking with Wyomi started obnoxiously enough but ultimately it felt… good. It had been a long while since she'd felt truly positive emotions, so something good was definitely worth thinking about.

Frowning slightly as she shifted her weight onto different bruises, Lex recounted all of the oddities surrounding Wyomi and her pub. The drug cocktail she'd taken the day before was starting to wear thin, and though that meant she felt physical pain more sharply, it meant her mind was sharper as well. Now that her mind-fog was lifting, Lex was certain she'd let several key observations slip past her unchallenged.

Firstly, there was the matter of the bizarre optical illusions in the alleyway. From the main street, she could've sworn the Bloody Banshee was the same width as its neighbors. Yet, the building's interior, as well as the view from the front stoop, was most certainly at least triple the size of the neighboring stores. Perhaps the magnification was simply a side-effect of all the pain-killers she'd taken… But, if that was the case, why wasn't she experiencing these strange warping effects anywhere else?

Secondly, there was the matter of The Bloody Banshee's trick window. She'd heard of one-way glass, of course, but this went a step beyond. She didn't think it was possible to obscure one side of the glass, while leaving it transparent on the other. Was it wallpaper? A projection? Regardless of the implementation, what kind of pub plasters a scene of a fake store interior onto their windows? That was blatant false-advertising.

Thirdly, yes, thirdly, Lex growled in growing frustration, "What the hell is a Scourer?"

She'd gathered that there were some tragic mishappenings surrounding this group of ne'er do wells, but the true meaning of the word 'Scourer' remained a mystery. Even worse, she had no hopes of asking Wyomi for more information, as Lex had already carelessly implied that she herself was a victim.

Climbing carefully out of the bath, Lex resolved to return to The Bloody Banshee later that morning. Deciding to kill two birds with one rather large stone, she further resolved to invite one of her closest friends along. She hadn't spoken to even her closest friends in ages, and she intended on fully-updating them on her status now that she was back on her feet. As an added bonus, if a friend accompanied her to The Bloody Banshee and asked all of the ignorant questions about Scourers and such for her… there would be no need for Lex to lose face.

With a wicked smirk, Lex delicately dressed her bruised body and combed her hair. This shiny new proactive attitude was completely out of the ordinary for Lex, but lately it seemed that her life had been flipped upside down and shaken out. So, what _wasn't_ out of the ordinary was probably the better question.

One long phone call of furious scolding later, Will was on his way over to Lex's apartment. Despite his generally carefree and easygoing personality, Will was irate that Lex hadn't bothered calling anyone for support. He made several good points, and Lex couldn't help but feel a bit foolish. She was always so wary of misplacing her trust, so much so that she'd managed to convince herself that she was completely alone, even though she clearly wasn't.

Will was dropping everything to escort her downtown, and Lex was warmly reminded of the reason they were friends in the first place. For the second time in a mere two days, she felt a resurgence of happiness and human affection. There were people who genuinely cared for her and her well-being. She was not alone.

Will showed up at her door, still furious. Through the peephole, she could see a collared tartan button-up, perfectly accentuating smooth ebony skin. Will acted carefree and lackadaisical at times, but he was always well-dressed.

Slowly cracking open the front door, Lex steeled herself for the impending tirade. However, as Will caught sight of her face, his eyes drifting over her swollen cheeks, blackened eyes, and scarred neck, his anger visibly melted away. Mouth agape, he hesitantly stepped forward and loosely cradled her in his arms.

They stood, gently embracing in the doorway for another minute-and-a-half. Neither dared speak a word. In her tenderized state, even the softest brush of fabric against her skin burned, but Lex refused to spoil the kind gesture. Will finally unwrapped his arms and stepped back, his eyes still wide.

"You, uh…. You look like shit, Lex," he said very matter-of-factly as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark-washed denim jeans.

Whatever she'd been expecting, it most certainly wasn't _that_. Overwhelmed by the tumultuous experiences of the past few days and her equally tumultuous emotions, Lex finally reached breaking point. Air bubbling up from deep within her chest and seemingly bursting out from her lungs, she surrendered to a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Will stared blankly upon her for a moment, before the contagion spread and his booming guffaws joined her infectious laughter.

Twenty-three minutes later, Will and Lex walked along the oddly-named Quahog Street, quite close to Lex's favorite hospital. Lex was attempting to retrace her steps to The Bloody Banshee, but her memory kept failing her. She was back on pain-killers, and there was only so much information you could squeeze out of a drug-addled brain...

Although Lex commended the city's planners for plotting a mostly-logical city street grid, there were nonetheless plenty of older winding streets and alleyways to get lost in. Some of the older streets were even paved with cobblestone, trailing past preserved colonial buildings and repurposed stables. The old carriage houses with their boarded-over barn doors stood as somber reminders of a simpler time - a time when even at full-charge your smartphone apps couldn't get you home safely.

Lex and Will wandered aimlessly through the streets for quite some time without spotting anything familiar. Meanwhile, Lex was teased relentlessly for her uncanny ability to get lost in a city with perfectly adequate signage. Several rhetorical inquiries of whether or not Lex had taken her medication received several most-scathing glares.

Secretly, a thorny worry was busily blossoming in Lex's drug-addled mind, roots of distress digging deeper and deeper. A doubt was planted, the possibility that The Bloody Banshee was nothing more than a figment of her imagination, a dirty trick played on a rattled psyche. This gnawing fear spurred her ever-onward. Perhaps this turn… Perhaps that alleyway over there…

As the afternoon sun peeked out from behind the grey clouds inhabiting the murky sky, Will finally convinced Lex to stop for a late lunch. Unsurprisingly, it was much easier to navigate to an arbitrary location than to a specific one, and within mere minutes they'd found an entire street full of lunch options. Yes, if only it was as easy to find The Bloody Banshee…

Lex and Will selected a clean hip American café for their impromptu meal. Usually, Lex would have preferred something more "exotic," but she'd been given strict instructions to go easy on her stomach for the next month.

Will guided her by the elbow through the front door and helped lower her gently into a seat by the window. She thanked him with a cheeky smile, while he merely rolled his eyes and plopped down across the table.

The interior of Café Alchemy was the epitome of industrial chic - the industry being chemical. Glasses of water were served in scientific beakers, along with a shared carafe for refills, and each square granite table was covered by a tablecloth displaying The Periodic Table of Elements.

Will and Lex exchanged chemistry puns, while waiting for their food to arrive. During a lull in the conversation, Lex gazed mindlessly across the street.

The buildings along this street lay in a flush row, their heights and widths identical to one another - all except one.

Directly across the street, the taller colonial-style buildings parted, making room for a short brick alleyway. Most buildings along the street were whitewashed and painted in muted tones, probably due to some city ordinance or another for historical neighborhoods. The alley's walls, however, were composed of warm rust-orange bricks and covered by emerald-green moss manicured into the shape of ornate arrows. Each arrow pointed to a squat ruby-red building with gold trim nestled contentedly in the shade of the narrow alley.

Even from across the street, Lex could clearly see antique golden lampposts lighting the dignified cobblestone path leading to the shop. Warm golden light from the lamps danced beautifully against the surrounding brick, reminding Lex of autumn leaves. Most impressive of all was a brilliant sign, which seemed impossibly-readable from this distance… It titled the building "Flourish & Fontaine." In clarification of the otherwise-ambiguous brand name, a giant book levitated to the left of the sign, while a large quill danced about the sign's right corner.

Lex couldn't help but applaud the owner's ingenuity. It was such a brilliant display of aesthetics and clever marketing strategy that Lex felt obliged to visit the little bookstore. Furthermore, from an engineering standpoint, it would be worth a look if only to examine the mechanisms operating the book and quill. The props floated to-and-fro so smoothly that they betrayed none of the metal poles or rope tethers that must inevitably extend to the machine powering the sophisticated sign.

"Hey, check it out!" Lex gasped at Will, while gesturing excitedly across the street.

To Lex's disappointment, Will hardly batted an eyelash. Instead, he stared quizzically across the street, lazily sipping on his beaker of water before replying.

"Check out what? What am I looking for?" he asked, completely nonchalant.

"Are you serious? The bookstore sitting right there! _Flourish & Fontaine_. Big floating book. Ringing any bells?"

With a huff, she swiveled in her chair and pointed a finger towards the cheery alleyway.

"At the end of that alley! Right there!"

For emphasis, Lex vigorously tapped the glass with her finger, which earned her a scornful look from a passing waitress. Once Lex was satisfied that Will was finally looking at the proper building, she settled back into a position more comfortable to her bruised body.

Will, however, was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting to the neighboring tables. Inexplicably, his face wore a pained expression, and Lex wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or concerned or both.

They were briefly interrupted by the arrival of their respective meals, and Lex nibbled on her boring slice of toast, while Will showered his salad in dressing. They each took a few bites of their respective meal before Will finally broke the silence with a deep sigh.

He started to explain, "Look… Lex, I know you've been through alot this past week, and I want you to know I'm here for you, but I need you to trust me. You trust me, right?"

He waited expectantly for a response, his gaze boring into her own. Lex nodded slowly, very much confused.

"Right…" she said slowly.

"Lex," he said, taking another deep breath and speaking softly, as if even words might break her fragile form, "I need you to believe me when I say there is _nothing_ there. There is no alley across the street. There is certainly no floating book. There is no Bloody Banshee pub."

"Hey, what the - what the heck…" Lex retorted eloquently, suddenly on the defensive and trying desperately to deny that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, "No, no, no. You're wrong. The bookstore is right there. We just have to -"

"Stop."

Will held up a hand, his rigid expression quite foreign on his normally-jovial face.

"We've been wandering the streets for hours now, and I've humored you, but enough is enough. You admit that you were too out-of-it to even remember street names, but somehow you also think that you _weren't_ out-of-it when you stumbled into a mysterious cafe… that spontaneously turned into a pub… that was in the middle of a freaky Halloween party... that just so happens to not be listed anywhere online or on any map."

Lex knew it sounded stupid and irrational, but she still wasn't ready to accept defeat. Arming herself with a smoldering glare, she opened her mouth to speak but was promptly interrupted once more by Will, his sensitive eyes pleading.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk here, okay? You almost _died_. This isn't about proving you right or wrong - this is about your health. You can't just go hiking all around town _the day after_ you get out of the hospital. A few hours was already too much, but it seemed important, so I didn't say anything. I should've said something sooner and I'm sorry, but we really should go. You need rest."

He concluded his lecture with such an air of finality that Lex bitterly felt as though she'd just been reprimanded by one of her former college professors. She was under the influence of too many drugs… hallucinating… Why was this logic so difficult to accept?

Perhaps it was because she'd finally found something surprising and unexpected, something that made her feel good, even if had been just for an hour. And now there was a good chance that it was yet another one of her mindless fantasies… Had her desire to escape become so pronounced that her brain was world-building on auto-pilot? It was terrifying to consider that these fictional places and people might simply fade away, alongside the drugs and all of the physical pain.

We should go. _We should go_ he had said, and Lex had immediately thought _Where?_ Where was she supposed to go? Once more, back to reality, back to normalcy and predictability.

Lex emphatically dug her heels into the floor, pushed back her chair, and stood to leave. Ignoring Will's protests, she strode out the door and onto the curb. She simply couldn't go back to the way things were. It would be like death - and she was now as qualified as anyone could be to make the comparison.

She hovered on the edge of the curb for a moment, anxiety rising in her chest. Crossing the street had become a bit of a sore subject… It was easy enough crossing the streets while surrounded by crowds or with Will holding her arm, but now the crowds had thinned and Will would not be accompanying her.

She glanced behind her at Café Alchemy, making eye contact with Will through the window. He angrily threw his arms over his head and gestured for her to return.

Instead, she stubbornly returned her gaze to Flourish & Fontaine. Its warm, inviting scenery still stood in stark contrast to all of the subdued colors and architecture surrounding it.

"I'm not crazy," Lex muttered angrily, while a passing couple hastily veered away from the sidewalk curb, giving her a wide berth as they continued down the street.

Aside from the couple she'd apparently spooked, the street was mostly empty of both pedestrians and cars, with only a lone automobile gliding by every minute or so. She briefly considered detouring to one of the designated crosswalks, but neither the crosswalks nor the traffic lights had been much help last week. So, trembling slightly, she took a hesitant step onto the asphalt.

Her rational mind was a bit perturbed that she'd allowed herself to get this worked up over a single mundane pub visit, but Practicality was staying mercifully silent. This was important. It _mattered_.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Lex saw Will rushing to pay the bill. She was glad that all she'd ordered was two pieces of toast, as she wasn't typically the sort of person to leave others to pay her share.

 _I'll make it up to him_ , Lex thought with a grin.

Bookstores almost always had some small souvenirs or other useful items for sale, and when Will finally caught up with her, Lex planned to be standing smugly inside Flourish & Fontaine with an ironic postcard in hand.

Perhaps all the strange occurrences of the past few days would prove to be just as dull as everything else in the long run. Perhaps in time The Bloody Banshee would become just as unremarkable to her as the coffee-shop-clones flanking her apartment complex. However, mysteries, such as _what the hell a Scourer was_ , hadn't been solved yet, and Lex was not about to run back to predictable and boring.

With a deep breath, a wary look down the road in either direction, a brief shudder, and a cacophony of existential debate, Lex strode across Quahog Street and onto a beautifully-lit cobblestone path. Alexandra Austin wasn't going back to predictable and boring - Lex was going onward to Flourish & Fontaine.

* * *

On Saturday, October 22nd, at 4:54 PM, Theodard Fontaine reclined comfortably against a plush couch comprised entirely of toadstools. Ironically, with his portly frame and rotund belly, Theodard himself closely resembled an overgrown toad perched precariously on its stool. Against the lacy ruffles of a crisp white button-up shirt, a red-and-white polka dot bow tie peeked out from behind Theodard's short pointed beard, which had been dyed a jolly mint green.

Even without the green hair, Theodard bore little resemblance to his namesake, one of the original twelve MACUSA Aurors. Of course, that mattered little to a man such as Theodard, who preferred the company of books to people and the magic of a library to magic from a wand. _Let Agilbert chase after fame and glory_ , said Theodard always, _What is fame next to a good book?_

Much to his parents' dismay, Theodard had never aspired for the limelight or shown what his family members deemed to be an adequate amount of ambition. Thus, Theodard's younger brother, Agilbert Fontaine, current Headmaster of the world-renowned Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had always been the shining star of the Fontaine household. And yet, despite Mr. and Mrs. Fontaine's obvious preference for Agilbert, Theodard held no ill-will towards his little brother. He was actually quite proud of Agilbert's accomplishments. In fact, every time Agilbert made the papers, Theodard's book sales soared, increasing by at least 20 percent. Nothing like real quantifiable "family value," Theodard always said…

Though relatively new to the book distributor scene, Flourish & Fontaine benefited greatly from its two proud family names. The Flourish family, best known for their co-ownership of Flourish & Blotts, had certainly shouldered the bulk of the financial burden during the bookstore's infancy. In America, any ties to the more-prominent magical families of Europe brought a business or product instant reputability. After years of his and Agilbert's hard work, however, Theodard was proud to say that the _Fontaine_ name now bought more lasting traction in the American magical community than _Flourish_.

Twirling the tip of his thin mustache around his finger, Theodard flipped a page of _The Darkest Wand_ , thoroughly engrossed in his third re-reading. The elderly man's penchant for polka dots was matched only by his penchant for raunchy romance novels.

"Beautiful Brunette with a Wit to Match" squealed a high-pitched childlike voice as the bookstore's front door opened then closed.

Theodard snapped his book shut and jumped up to greet his customer. Over the checkout counter, Theodard spotted a young woman seemingly in the process of being devoured alive by no-maj winter clothes. A thick woolly hat covered most of her head, and a charcoal scarf obscured her face. A few tufts of brown hair poked out from behind her hat, but otherwise Theodard could ascertain neither the accuracy nor the effectiveness of his Customer Charm charm.

The Customer Charm charm always announced the entrance of a new customer with an appropriate complimentary appraisal. Upon installation, he'd chosen the neutral childlike voice model, because he personally found compliments from plain-spoken children to be the most believable, and, oh, Theodard _loved_ watching how the quite-charming, if sometimes overly-dramatic, voice brightened his customers' day.

 _It it such a pity the young woman's face is hidden_ , thought Theodard.

"Good afternoon, young lady! Welcome to Flourish & Fontaine! If you require any assistance in satisfying your literary needs, please do not hesitate to ask," he said, with a curt bow.

After the nearly-mummified young woman returned a prompt muffled Thank you, sir, Theodard waddled back over to his toadstool couch. He crouched slightly, allowing the toadstools to grow around him until at last they formed a perfectly-molded cushion. He then hefted his weight back onto the toadstool couch, which readjusted itself until Theodard was in a comfortable reclined position. Propping _The Darkest Wand_ against his lap once more, he reopened to the polka dot bookmark marking his last-read page. Finally, his left hand flying up to twirl his mustache, he continued his rereading.

On Saturday, October 22nd, at 5:19 PM, Theodard Fontaine was roused once more from his book. A series of muffled expletives ensued from one of the balconies a floor above him.

He wondered with amazement if this was the young "lady" from earlier. Surely this wasn't how the younger generations conversed… He continued pondering over modern social etiquette, while yanking anxiously on his mustache.

Another string of explicit language poured out from above, and Theodard's jaw dropped. His hand slapped to his chest as he gasped in recognition. That particularly-crude sentence was lifted straight from his current chapter in _The Darkest Wand!_

"Oh my word!"

* * *

Lex crossed the threshold of Flourish & Fontaine, prepared to be unprepared, expecting the unexpected. However, as she craned her sore neck backwards to peer up at the Flourish & Fontaine sign, she couldn't help but feel her brain's estimation capabilities were now horribly miscalibrated.

A second and third story stretched upwards from the ground floor, which only moments ago had been the single floor of this previously-squat bookstore. Lex could no longer see the roof of the building, because it disappeared into a fog of grey clouds. Small birds flitted about in the fog, their wings casting odd shadows into the haze. Strange… Lex hadn't seen many pigeons in this part of town.

On the ground floor, the building's painted wood siding appeared to have grown around the glimmering store sign, which was still impossibly-readable, even while standing almost directly below it. Much to Lex's chagrin, no pulleys or metal frameworks were exposed that might have shed some light on how the bookstore's extravagant sign worked, however.

Beneath the secretive sign, current best-sellers were hovering haphazardly in a large display window. The books danced excitedly, and inexplicably, over colorful cauldrons filled-to-the-brim with textbooks, parchment, and other school supplies. Lex didn't recognize any of the book titles, but several of them had some of the most extraordinary creative book covers she'd ever seen. She could hardly believe that a bookstore would go to such lengths, employing special effects worthy of a theme park as a mere advertising technique! E-books must have _really_ been cutting into bookstore profits, more than even her most cynical estimates…

Shaking her head once in disbelief and then again in an effort to stretch her sore neck muscles, Lex closed the distance between herself and the heavy-looking front door. The door was golden and ornate with polished ivory accents. A giant anagram of the letters 'F' and 'F' was sculpted into its face, while its handle was merely an ivory-encrusted indentation halfway down the right side of the door.

Lex yanked open the door, releasing a grunt of displeasure at its startling weight. Goodness! What was this door made of? Solid gold?

Before the ridiculously-heavy door had even slammed shut, Lex was once again reminded of how terribly misaligned her predicted reality had become with her actual reality. Doors jingle when they shut. _Or_ sometimes silly sound effects play whenever a special door sensor is triggered. Doors do not judge. Doors do not prompt creepy invisible children to whisper inappropriate commentary into your ears.

"Beautiful Brunette with a Wit to Match" chirped a high-pitched childlike voice, its words originating from over her left shoulder.

The incredible closeness of the voice sent a shiver down Lex's spine, the hairs on her bruised neck standing on end despite the warmth of her thick scarf. She immediately attempted to turn towards the voice, but it simply finished its sentence from its fixed location over her left shoulder.

Eyes wide, Lex spun back towards the right half of the building, where a plump man peered happily over a checkout counter. She wondered whether this man possibly possessed a skill for ventriloquism, as well as a childlike alter-ego, but quickly realized that her attempts to explain the phenomenon were just making it creepier.

"Good afternoon, young lady! Welcome to Flourish & Fontaine! If you require any assistance in satisfying your literary needs, please do not hesitate to ask," said the man with a curt bow that set his belly jiggling.

Lex thought that the man looked a bit like a green-haired Colonel Sanders - that is, if Colonel Sanders wore lacy dress shirts and polka dots on his bow tie. He had a kind, albeit aloof, demeanor, and she politely thanked him for the offer, hoping that her tone would signal an end to the conversation.

She was most grateful and relieved when, instead of pestering her with questions, he graciously left her to her own devices.

The interior of Flourish & Fontaine was even more beautiful than the exterior. Along the far wall, spiral staircases climbed upwards towards tiered balcony levels. In keeping with the theme, each staircase was a beautiful mix of gold and ivory. Colorful wallpapers wrapped the high walls and even the ceilings, each level boasting its own unique style, likely pertaining to the genres of books it held. Each level also played host to a portion of the dramatic stained-glass windows spanning the entire height of the building. Despite the cloudy day outside, bright rays of sunlight filtered through these large window etchings, which depicted centaurs, mermaids, and other equally fantastic creatures.

At the foot of the grand pane of stained glass, bookshelves covered all but the very center of the ground floor. There, flanked by a semicircle of stuffed bookshelves, a tiered, golden fountain rained a potpourri of miscellaneous items and glitter into its deep basin. On the fountain's side, an engraving read "Baubles & Knick-Knacks" in elegant script.

Items of every shape and size were pouring endlessly downward without any of the objects breaking or making so much as a sound. In fact, the only sound emitted from the fountain was that of rushing, yet non-existent water. Lex watched as a feathery quill floated swiftly downwards beside a falling rubbery ball, both somehow maintaining the exact same speed and arched trajectory. Natural sound effects she could understand, as she'd listened to plenty of calming audio tracks featuring running water, but how on Earth were they producing this illusion of suspended motion?

Crossing the floor, she swiped a hand beneath one of the fountain "arms" and it returned with a fancy ink pen. The fountain was certainly not a holographic projection, and there were no glass tubes to shape the smooth arches of the fountain "arms." She wasn't quite tall enough to reach the top of the approximately six-foot fountain to confirm, but she suspected an air vacuum… and magnets… yes, magnets. That made perfect sense! And if it didn't… well, then Lex supposed that neither she _nor Sir Isaac Newton_ would be properly "calibrated" to predict this particular reality.

Finally, turning her attention away from the fountain, Lex wandered among the bookshelves. She found herself sandwiched between a row dedicated to owls and another dedicated to numerology. After returning a copy of _You & Your Owl_ to its shelf, she glanced around wildly for some signage to make sense of this odd filing system. Who would put books on owls next to books on numerology? Where was the logic in that? Furthermore, who knew there were so many popular books on owls…

Peering about, Lex soon spotted a thin sign hanging from the ceiling overhead. It read "Textbooks: Ilvermorny Curriculum" and appeared to be a miniature version of the larger sign outside. Much like its big brother, this sign gave no indication as to how it was suspended in the air.

Growing exasperated by the recent influx of unanswered questions, Lex threw her hands up in the air, winced at the careless movement, and then proceeded towards the nearest staircase. She had hoped to find a postcard or an equally cheeky souvenir for Will, and a numerology textbook certainly wouldn't do. Lex would have predicted the stationery or school supplies section would be located near the textbooks section, but, when someone thinks it logical to place owls next to numerology, all bets are off.

Climbing the spiral staircase to the second floor required much less effort than she'd anticipated. Lex could've sworn that the spiral staircase actually was spiraling as she moved, and perhaps of even greater concern, as Lex stepped onto the stair landing, she could have sworn that one of the stained-glass centaurs brandished his bow and winked in her direction.

"Drugs are bad, kids…" Lex muttered mirthlessly under her breath.

The second floor was one part family photo album and one part antique shop. On the left side, medieval crests, framed clippings, and group photos were scattered among mahogany cabinets and shelves. On the right side of the surprisingly-large space, an eclectic mix of historical objects hung from the red pinstripe walls. Antique telephone booths, beanbags, and Lazy-boys formed a bizarre seating area in the far corner, where a rubber duck was inexplicably displayed on a pedestal below a hanging rubber chicken. Instead of the rich mahogany of the shelves on the left, the shelves on the right were made of various industrial metals and materials. One shelf even looked to be composed entirely of bottle caps.

Immediately upon exiting the stair landing, another floating sign appeared. It read "Blood Matters" above an arrow pointing left and "No-Maj Relations" above an arrow pointing right.

 _No-maj_ … Lex remembered Wyomi using the word to describe a cellphone, but Lex had assumed "no-maj" was just some bizarre Chinese off-brand. Clearly, she was mistaken. Interest piqued, Lex proceeded towards the shelves on the right, her postcard mission temporarily forgotten.

After perusing a bookshelf made from bent Texas license plates, Lex selected her first book, _When Muggles Attack_ by Barrett Fay. Flipping quickly through the pages, she spotted a technical blueprint of a toaster below the chapter title, "Dangerous Muggle Weaponry," a flying motorcycle below another heading of "Cultural Take-over," and, finally, an incredible image of a farmer with a pitchfork leading a team of hogs into battle.

Laughing at the absurdity of it all, Lex snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf. She wished there was a sign somewhere to indicate that this shelf was for satire. See, despite the outrageous decor, the signs had given her the funny impression that these books were non-fiction…

Moving to another row, Lex discovered a bookshelf made of welded bathroom appliances. These book titles included names she actually recognized. Books such as _Abraham Lincoln and 42 Other Famous No-Maj_ gave every indication of historical non-fiction, yet, when she scanned the contents, they documented some of the most ludicrous stories she had ever heard. A book dedicated solely to Abraham Lincoln was well-written in the conversational prose of a third-person narrative, but it soon devolved into mentions of altercations with blood-thirsty vampires - more ludicrous fiction.

Clearly, a "Historical Fiction" sign was needed immediately. However, Lex suppressed the urge to pull a pen and paper from her purse and post her own emergency filing system, deciding instead to give up on the bookshelf completely. She smirked and turned one of the knobs on a dangerously-protruding sink faucet, before proceeding onward to the last row of shelves.

Lex was beginning to tire, feeling the exhaustion of a day spent almost exclusively on her feet. Fortunately, the last row bordered the cloister of beanbag chairs she'd noticed earlier. Glancing at a particularly-inviting cowhide beanbag, Lex snatched a red leather-bound hardback from the second shelf and lowered herself into the nearest Lazy-boy chair. Her body immediately thanked her, her legs going limp against the footrest as she sunk even deeper into the upholstery of the vintage recliner.

Sighing with satisfaction, Lex thought peacefully at the book she held, _Guess it's just you and me for a little bit._

Flipping the book over in her hands, she admired the golden trim on the red, leather cover. Three simplified human faces were depicted in gold in a column down the center. One face covered its eyes, another its ears, and the third its mouth, as if to represent the old adage "See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil." Intrigued, Lex opened to the title page:

 _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why the Muggles Prefer Not to Know_  
by Professor Mordicus Egg

Grinning widely, yet not unsympathetically at the man's unfortunate name, she carefully studied the author's foreword, which read more like an author's disclaimer.

 _The Muggle or Non-Magical (No-Maj), as he is known in the Americas, is a largely misunderstood creature. Herein, this novel aims to clarify some of the common misconceptions and frequently unjust negative stereotypes surrounding the Muggle condition. Throughout this novel, I further aim to be as objective as possible in my discourse, whilst presenting you merely with the facts. This book is neither a statement on my personal views regarding issues of pure-blood supremacy, magical supremacy, nor…_

Lex's head snapped up, and, for once, she didn't even wince. Muggle. Non-magical. Whilst.

At 5:19 PM on October 22nd, 2016, three things occurred to Alexandra Austin in rapid succession and ascending order of significance. Firstly, the author was clearly foreign and most likely British. This, of course, was of little consequence, but Alexandra's mind noted it first nonetheless. Secondly, "muggle" was synonymous with "no-maj," which was synonymous with "non-magical." Thirdly, and of explosive importance, if there were non-magicals… then the people who wrote these books… Wyomi and the Van Helsings… green-haired Colonel Sanders downstairs and his creepy kid voice… they must be _magicals_. Or, at least they _think_ they're magicals.

The book dropped from her hands and slid obnoxiously to her feet. Lex didn't even notice. Her eyes wide and her jaw slack, she stared out towards the balcony, which overlooked the impossible fountain resting just below. As she stared, unblinking, at one of the stained-glass windows, a cheeky merman flexed his tail muscles, pointed his trident in her direction, and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The resulting flash of understanding, which crossed Alexandra Austin's highly-analytical mind in that moment encompassed the implementation of more datapoint comparisons, memory retrievals, heuristic models, and existential angst than should ever be inflicted upon or asked of a human brain. Naturally, the most logical response to her conundrum bubbled to the surface of her mind in the form of the expressive language that usually accompanies words similar to a word that sounds similar to, but not quite exactly like "rubber duck"…

"Holy f-"


	2. Of Disappointment & Dragots

« _Foreword_ »

Any science, technology, or magical explanations given in this story will be backed up with actual science. For my fellow science dorks, I will include links to relevant articles or papers when appropriate.

From here on out, I will assume the Dragot is equivalent to the Galleon, and one dragot or galleon equals $24.50.

* * *

 **« T W O »**

 _ **Of Disappointment & Dragots**_

* * *

Alexandra Austin never wanted to be a cynic. She never asked to be a cynic, and she certainly wasn't always one. Once upon a time, Alexandra Austin had been full of candy cane wishes and sugarplum dreams… She had believed in Santa Claus and magic far longer than the other kids her age. She had believed in good beating evil and violence never being the way and… magic. Yes, Alexandra Austin used to believe in magic.

But, magic was something for children, yes? She had abandoned that dream, along with all of the other childish things she had left behind for adulthood.

Lex bent down and carefully retrieved Professor Mordicus Egg's _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why the Muggles Prefer Not to Know_ from its precarious resting place atop her feet.

Hope is a curious thing. It can surge back in full force long after one might believe it to be dead and gone.

Absently tracing the book's gold stitching with the pad of her finger, Lex likened her own resurgence of hope to the awkward ambiguity of receiving a hug from a complete stranger. She didn't want to make assumptions, but was quite aware that this would probably be a major disappointment.

Hope is a dangerous thing. So often portrayed as something beautiful and wondrous, the wrong circumstances are capable of corrupting and twisting hope into something closer to terror. This was the crossroads at which Alexandra Austin found herself - to believe or not to believe? There appeared to be something more, something tangible to hope for in life's monotonous desert sands, but if she looked any closer the vision might disappear entirely, her oasis fading away, another shattered illusion withered beneath reality's scorching sun.

Within that void of indecision, platitude after platitude echoed amidst relentless internal debate. She was distantly aware of the irony of knowing what she now knew from a book about why people like herself preferred not to know. Somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean Professor Mordicus Egg must surely have been rolling over in his grave…

One of the faces on Egg's book eyed her suspiciously, and Lex squinted back. Every so often, the three faces depicted on the front cover of _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why the Muggles Prefer Not to Know_ would move their hands, peeking through their fingers or casually cupping an ear. It was as if each startled face was perpetually caught in the act.

Now that she knew what to look for, Lex was startled to find a plethora of magical evidence she'd overlooked. Within the book's pages, photographs were impossibly animated, and Lex observed awestruck as Professor Egg's portrait adjusted both his smile and his wig seemingly at random.

Earlier, as she'd skimmed through book after ridiculous book, her subconscious managed to explain away the subtle animations as a trick of the light, an optical illusion. However, the evidence could no longer be ignored - not while she stared it straight in the wig-framed face.

Fingering the flimsy paper and furiously flipping the "About the Author" page back and forth, Lex admitted the truth. To the fullest extent of her perceptual capabilities there were indeed paper-thin illustrations animating themselves without any apparent power source or computing system.

Could her perceptions be wrong? Perhaps the drugs she'd been prescribed were responsible... Or, perhaps… was magic real? Was she an idiot to even consider it?

Lex's mind was teetering like a seesaw, but like any masterly young seesaw rider, she soon discovered balance.

She needed to rationalize magic. Perhaps just as religion and science were not completely incompatible, magic and science were not completely incompatible. Sir Arthur Clarke's third law was the first balancing thought to pop into her mind:

 _Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic._

Mentally nodding to herself, Lex was comforted by the realization that she had been proposing scientific explanations to this supposed "magic" all along. Professor Egg made some convincing arguments for why "muggles" prefer not to know, but in his arrogance he'd failed to take into account how much non-magicals _already_ know.

If she hadn't been aware of modern science and was, say, a cavewoman, she might have been screaming _Magic!_ long ago. However, non-magicals were no longer cavemen, Lex was not a cavewoman, and she could recognize an advanced tool when she saw one.

Well, maybe she hadn't recognized it right away… She _had_ been ready to dismiss magical inconsistencies as impossibilities all day.

 _Sir Arthur Clarke would've been ashamed_ , she thought, silently scolding.

But, in her defense, the magic she'd witnessed so far was mostly replicable with current no-maj technologies. Not to mention there were drugs involved…

No, no, two days was a more-than-adequate turnaround time to accept a discovery of this magnitude into her ontological framework. Good science was never claimed as complete or comprehensive. There were always so many questions left unanswered, so much acknowledged as unknown.

Indeed, Lex had stumbled into a new world, complete with new knowledge, new rules, and new answers. Perhaps all this situation really called for was for stepping up her "nerd" game.

"The only way of discovering the limits of the possible…" said Lex, dutifully reciting Clarke's second law aloud, "…is to venture a little way past them into the impossible."

Across the balcony, on the far wall's lengthy window, the stained-glass merman perked up. Apparently he believed Lex's completely-sane monologue was addressing him, for he flicked his tail, inclined his trident towards his chest, and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask _Who? Me?_

Startled from her reverie, Lex proceeded to hold a most awkward gestural conversation with a two-dimensional merman. Once the merman seemed to be properly convinced that she was in no way attempting to communicate, Lex mentally flipped Professor Mordicus Egg the bird and opened to the first chapter of _The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why the Muggles Prefer Not to Know_.

Alexandra Austin, "muggle" at large, very much preferred to know.

* * *

At approximately 8 PM, Theodard Fontaine completed his third re-reading of _The Darkest Wand_. Heaving himself off of his flattened toadstool, he marveled at how enchanting Dark Lord Rodriguez was the third time around. Humming a sultry tune, he strolled lazily to the nearest staircase, book in hand.

The indoor lighting had adjusted itself to match the natural lighting outside. Silvery moonbeams cascaded through the stained glass windows, while floating lamps, candles, and ethereal orbs lit the shadier nooks. High above Theodard's portly frame, the fog surrounding the twelfth floor was now painted with the illusion of a starry sky.

Pausing on the first step of the spiral staircase, Theodard allowed the Winding Wonder Charm to work its magic. With a slight tremble, the stairs began their steady ascent, carrying Theodard smoothly upward through the tight turns of the corkscrew-shaped staircase.

Although the Winding Wonder Charm was an expensive piece of magic, it was more than worth the price. With twelve floors at Flourish & Fontaine and plans currently underway to add a thirteenth, many customers would rather not climb a dozen sets of stairs just to reach their desired genre section. Theodard and his bad back certainly wouldn't be climbing the twelve floors...

Thirty seconds later, Theodard's head finally peeked above the second floor. One obvious disadvantage of this particular stair charm was its atrociously-slow turning speed. He let out a sigh as he gazed across the far balcony railing, patiently awaiting the final twist of the stairs onto the top landing.

To his surprise, the now-visible "No-Maj Relations" section was currently occupied. Amidst disorderly stacks of books, a familiar young woman sat rigidly upon a bicorn-hide bean bag chair. Though the bean bags Theodard had transfigured were exceedingly comfortable, the young lady managed to appear entirely uncomfortable as she hunched over an array of open books. The bundle of no-maj clothing that had previously obscured her hair and face now lay in a messy pile on an adjacent bean bag. Auburn hair exposed, she frantically alternated between flipping pages and raising a strange rectangular box from its resting place on her lap.

Introverted Theodard greatly respected personal privacy and preferred to keep his bulbous nose out of other people's business, thank you very much. Thus, he usually adopted a strict "no questions asked" policy when it came to his customers. This privacy policy, in addition to Flourish & Fontaine's 24-7 hours of operation, had served him well in magical America's competitive marketplace.

However, even Theodard couldn't overlook this oddity of a client. Vampires, werewolves, and other creatures of the night frequented his shop in the moonlit hours, but she had entered Flourish & Fontaine while the sun was still up and had obviously remained long after the sun had set.

 _What, in Merlin's name, has this witch been doing?_ Theodard thought, perplexed as he recalled her unladylike exclamations from mere hours before.

He shuffled cautiously toward the "No-Maj Relations" seating area, which he had affectionately decorated in authentic no-maj style. An admirer of non-magical curiosities and customs, Theodard had read many novels written by the foremost authorities on the subject. Thus, he was somewhat-irked to see a woman of her age seated on a bean bag.

As any witch or wizard who had read _The Comprehensive Guide to Contemporary Non-Magical Customs_ would have known, bean bags were thrown by young adults as a means of recreation, but were only acceptable seating for no-maj children. This woman was clearly not as well-read on the topic of no-maj culture, though Theodard supposed that was precisely why she currently found herself in this particular section of his shop.

Loudly clearing his throat, Theodard began, "Excuse me, young lady-"

Upon hearing his resounding baritone voice she gave a slight startled jump and her head immediately snapped up from the book. Eyes wide and round, her expression of shock mirrored Theodard's own. Thoroughly engrossed in a book, the young witch must not have noticed Theodard's careful approach.

The young witch's complexion was ghastly, grotesque, and painful to view. Mottled bruises discolored her skin, painting her face a red-black-and-blue mess. Deep gashes ran all the way from her busted lips to the nape of her neck, and the area around her right eye appeared puffy and swollen. Theodard's mind blanked, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating goldfish as he searched desperately for something - anything - to say.

Three silent seconds passed, while the young woman's eyes darted between Theodard, her scarf pile, and the books littering the floor. Suddenly she rose, her joints cracking loudly as she began hurriedly collecting the books into a more organized pile. Each time she knelt, she inclined her face upwards to catch his gaze.

"I'm sorry, sir! I believe I got a bit carried away…" she rasped, breathless from her slight physical exertion.

When Theodard's only response was to promptly clamp shut his gaping mouth, she continued, "I just haven't been to a bookstore in _so_ long, and, well, you have such a fine collection… I couldn't help but make myself a lengthy reading list..."

 _Merlin's buttocks, that bludgeoned face would freeze a basilisk!_ Theodard cried silently.

Thankfully, Theodard's inner dialogue never reached his mouth. His mother had raised him much-too-well for such impoliteness. His motor functions were recovering quite slowly from the paralytic shock accompanying sight of this woman's face. However, his sympathetic heart was much quicker to thaw.

Theodard certainly couldn't begrudge a fellow book-lover an outburst of literary fervor. Merlin knows, he'd had his share of late night tête-à-têtes with the steamy books in the ninth-floor romance section…

Furthermore, this woman's body and limbs bent so stiffly and with such apparent quakes and tremors that he was surprised she'd even made it to the second floor. Of course, he wasn't surprised at all that she'd yet to gather the strength to leave. It was certainly a testament to her literary ardor that she'd chosen to trek to a _bookstore_ in this state rather than her local healer.

Gesturing at the now-orderly stack of books, she inquired politely, "Sir, would you like me to refile these? I would like to come back and purchase some of them later. I'm afraid I lost track of time and must be going…"

"That is - that is quite alright, my dear," Theodard replied finally, in the kindest voice he could muster.

With a wave of his stubby wand, the stack of books flew swiftly but gently back onto their respective shelves. The woman's wide eyes followed the flock of books, her thin frame frozen rigid as she stared after them, mouth agape. After this brief moment of hesitation, she hurriedly grabbed her belongings, pulled the hat down to just above her eyebrows, and began wrapping her neck and face in the scarf.

Theodard gave an inward sigh of relief. He was glad she hadn't attempted to reshelve those towers of books. Wizards and witches always went wand-waving through Flourish & Fontaine, thinking themselves helpful but inevitably stirring up quite the ruckus. At best, they simply returned a stack of books to the wrong shelves. At worst, something would explode or set the building on fire. Once, an underage wizard had even managed to summon a thunderstorm to the ceiling rafters. Pouring rain soaked through all of the books, damaged wooden shelves, rusted the metal railings, doused a man's pet fire salamander, and left Theodard sneezing and nursing a cold for the remainder of the week.

 _No, no. There will be no foolish wand-waving in Flourish & Fontaine,_ Theodard concluded.

Despite her obvious discomfort, the young lady moved rather quickly towards the stairs. Theodard wondered why she hadn't attempted to heal her lesser injuries or at least conceal them in a less-conspicuous manner. He had yet to see her wand, so perhaps she was a squib, or perhaps a young vampire… It was difficult to determine her natural complexion, you see, while so-tragically hidden behind all of those bruises.

Briskly following the young woman to the stairs and vainly attempting to keep pace, Theodard finally remembered the strange item he had seen in her possession.

"Excuse me, miss. What is that rectangular object in your pocket?"

The young lady spun around, her expression so fearful that Theodard immediately felt guilty for breaking his own privacy policy and prying into a customer's personal life. Still, she dug the black box out of her coat pocket. Slowly, she held her hand out, displaying the item grasped tightly in her palm.

Gripped by a sudden bout of anxiety, Theodard prayed, in the name of Merlin, that this wasn't some special new feminine hygiene product.

"This… is a no-maj artifact," the young lady explained as Theodard expelled a deep sigh of relief, "I… came across it just the other day, and it got me interested in learning more about non-magicals."

She returned the box to her coat pocket with a weak smile. Or, perhaps, it was a smile of moderate strength. It was quite difficult to tell when her already-contorted face was swaddled in scarf…

The woman stepped onto the first step of the revolving staircase.

"Ah, yes. Good ol' no-maj!" Theodard laughed, giving an eager nod.

Politely turning back to Theodard, she balanced her left hand on the staircase railing and released a shrill yelp as the staircase jolted into motion. However, she quickly recovered, releasing her tensed grip on the railing and adjusting her posture to balance more sturdily on a single step. As the spiral staircase carried her slowly downwards to the first floor, she attempted to maintain eye contact, awkwardly craning her head around the staircase bars.

Theodard continued unperturbed.

"We've got quite the collection here at Flourish & Fontaine. Please do return soon! I'm sure you'll find plenty to assist in identifying that object of yours. Perhaps I'll even tell you about our marvelous bean bags and the dear exquisite rubber duck we have on display."

Theodard sent a jolly wink in her direction, her face finally disappearing around the bend of the staircase. He was secretly pleased to have found a fellow no-maj enthusiast and bibliophile to educate. Perhaps pupils had their perks after all… Perhaps he and his brother, Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine, had more in common than he thought…

His mustache twirled.

* * *

Despite taking numerous advanced and demanding university courses, Alexandra Austin could not remember having ever fit so much research so effectively into so little time in her entire life.

Sure, some things had gone wrong. Mistakes were made. And, those bumbling mistakes almost gave her away… but she'd been lucky. All in all, it could have been much worse.

 _Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._

Three more obnoxious missed call notifications popped up on Lex's smartphone screen. It was as if her cellphone had spontaneously grown a moral compass of its own and was now attempting to guilt her into returning Will's calls. Her cellphone was not semi-sentient, of course, but given recent events anything and everything was up for existential debate. A machine with a conscience certainly wasn't the most improbable thing she'd seen that day.

Lex silenced her phone, before returning it to its resting place on her meager coffee table. Were she at all capable of explaining herself, Lex would've called Will back that very moment. Circumstances being what they were, however, Lex had no substantial evidence for a whole lot of crazy. While _she_ might be aware of the momentous significance of the stolen images currently hogging all of her smartphone storage space, to anyone else they might as well be yet another internet meme. Realistic photo manipulations and computer graphics weren't exactly unusual or difficult to find these days.

No, she had no real evidence yet, and if she was to get some, she must do so very very carefully. If there was one important takeaway from her research, it was that she must maintain the utmost secrecy at all times, no matter what. People like her, non-magicals, weren't supposed to know anything about magic or the magical world. If she had any hope of learning more, as well as any hope of keeping the memories she'd already formed safely in her head, she must protect the data she'd collected and hide her true identity at all costs.

American magicals had good reason to be wary of no-maj like herself. Skimming through several ominously-titled books, Lex had learned the true nature of the Scourer threat Wyomi had mentioned at The Bloody Banshee. Before the founding of either the magical or non-magical governments, the "New World" was policed by a roving band of mercenaries, known as Scourers. These glorified bounty hunters turned their own kind over to Puritan fanatics for mere coin, and the Salem Witch Trial pyres were filled with their victims.

In 1693, the Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA) was finally founded. Scourers were put on the defensive, convicted and hunted by the new government. However, several convicted Scourers escaped persecution, intermarrying with no-maj. Centuries later, Scourer descendants raised to despise magic rose up as the Second Salemers, a hate group also ironically known as the New Salem Philanthropic Society. Second Salemers dedicated themselves to exposing the magical world and eradicating magic.

Lex couldn't see how a group of no-maj with 1920's technology was much of a threat to magicals, but whatever they did clearly terrified the American wizarding community. Hence, it was now her misfortune to be living under one of the most stringently separatist magical governments in the world. Marrying or even befriending a no-maj was seen as illegal fraternization.

Yes, she was certainly an unwelcome guest in their magical land, and if she wasn't meticulously careful, she would soon be a hopeless fugitive. For Will's safety, he couldn't be trusted with any of this information until he fully understood what was at stake.

Making a mental note to disable her phone's auto-sync in the future, Lex swiftly deleted all online copies of the photographic evidence her smartphone had uploaded to the web. Then, making sure her internet connection remained switched off the entire time, she backed up the images to an external hard drive.

Lex had gathered that magicals were far too arrogant and self-absorbed to become computer-literate, but she wasn't taking any chances where her memories were concerned. If MACUSA was monitoring non-magical communications and through some incredibly unfortunate act found the data Lex collected, her memory would be wiped faster than an angry Panamanian in a ruby-red Ferrari. One of their ministry officials would show up at her door, Obliviation spell at the ready, and it would be the worst day she could never remember.

With a sigh, Lex flopped back onto her pillow-stuffed couch.

In her non-magical opinion, Obliviation and False-Memory Charms should be ranked right up there with the Unforgivable Curses. They could join the Unforgivable triple threat in the abstract collection of "The Dark Arts Greatest Hits."

 _I'd buy that album…_ Lex thought, with a chuckle.

She might have had a good laugh imagining the perfect gothic or heavy-metal cover for such an album were it not for the sudden crushing realization that the Dark Arts were _real_. Mind wipes, mind control, and memory manipulation were no longer just fun plot twists for science fiction shows. The stakes were both real and very very high.

With an involuntary gulp Lex returned to her task, reminded once more of the gravity of her situation. Beneath a single hanging fluorescent light bulb, which cast dramatic shadows about the room, a large city map lay draped across Lex's wooden coffee table, along with a set of erasable colored pencils. She scribbled helpful notes in the margins and drew location markers for each magical building or entrance she'd discovered in the historical books at Flourish & Fontaine. Her careful measurements, color coding, and geographical precision would have made any cartographer proud.

Lex had concluded that the best place to continue her quest was somewhere she had already been. Well, sort of been…

The Western Precincts Market, colloquially known as "The Inside Out," was the nearest magical shopping center. It was older than the United States itself and boasted a long list of magical retailers, including both The Bloody Banshee and Flourish & Fontaine. Lex was positive that at least one of the listed shops would carry some convincing magical evidence she could procure. Furthermore, she could easily hide in the marketplace's large crowds.

The first obstacle to overcome was that of - surprise, surprise - finances. The American magical economy was based on the Dragot, a collection of round and octagonal coins in 1, ½, and ¼ denominations. Although the embossed design was rather simple, the coins were protected from counterfeit by a series of enchantments and heavily regulated by a guild of magical goblin-like creatures known as Pukwudgie. Thus, if Lex was to purchase anything magical, she must first get her hands on some dragots.

Despite the considerable number of hours she'd spent playing as a sneak thief in various role-playing games, Lex knew she was no pickpocket. Moral considerations aside, she doubted she could successfully steal from a no-maj, let alone a magic-wielding wizard. No, no, no… theft would certainly end in death or mind-wipe.

Lex wasn't sure which fate was actually worse at this point, so she continued down her mental checklist.

She could scour the shopping center for any dropped or discarded coins, but she predicted magicals would have some sort of spell to prevent the loss of their property. Not to mention, they probably had some way of tracking or cursing her once she touched said property…

She doubted begging for coins would work out well for her either. Lex was much too proud to grovel or burden others with her problems. Not to mention, drawing attention to one's self was a necessity for beggars. Lex hadn't researched MACUSA's policies on begging. If she was hauled off by Aurors, MACUSA's version of policemen, it was _game over_.

In full health, Lex might have considered flirting for information or money. However, all she had to do was remember the old man at Flourish & Fontaine and his reaction to her uncovered face. Debilitating shock and apparent revulsion do not often lead to romantic interest, thus Lex accepted the old man's reaction as undeniable proof that this option was out.

Ugh, if she _did_ manage to get her hands on some dragots, the first place she was visiting was the resident healer. Perhaps magic was capable of salvaging what was left of her face…

Checking yet another idea off her list, Lex's brainstorm drifted to the riskier possibilities, options which relied upon at least one chance item going her way. She'd always preferred improvisation to lengthy planning. Life rarely went according to plan, so even the best-laid plans required more contingency plans, and thus planning was an inordinate waste of time.

Impatient Lex decided to wing it.

Dressing as inconspicuous as possible, Lex would enter The Inside Out and search for both a currency exchange and a free newspaper or magazine. Hopefully, there was an easy way to exchange dollars for dragots, but if not she'd refer to the printed materials for next steps.

If she found classified advertisements, perhaps she might also find a job with an employer who wouldn't ask too many questions. A professional interview would surely reveal too much, but less glamorous labor might be available… labor which didn't require in-depth background checks.

Perusing the lengthy gallery of images currently uploading to her external hard drive, Lex smiled with vicious satisfaction. Her days of stumbling blindly through the magical world were over. Alexandra Austin had a plan.

* * *

Even after weathering centuries of operation, The Inside Out still boasted the most marvelous and convenient city street grid Lex had ever encountered - not that it was laid out in a grid, mind you. No, The Inside Out was laid out in exactly the same pattern as the historical sector of Lex's non-magical city. In fact, The Inside Out existed in exactly the same location as the non-magical buildings.

As _The Encyclopedia of Early Magical American Architecture_ had revealed, the true genius of The Inside Out was that the magical community grew safely inside the non-magical one, growing within an expanded two-dimensional plane. No-maj stepped through The Inside Out every day but could neither see it nor enter.

What Lex could glean from the book's limited explanation of the phenomenon was that magicals were capable of seeing a magically-engineered spatial dimension, a fourth dimension removed from the everyday three-dimensional world. When entering this dimension, magicals would replace an arbitrary third dimension, like width, with this new magical fourth dimension.

Apparently, a local Native American tribe used the technique frequently for both storage space and safety from aggressive neighboring tribes. The first use of the technique recorded by European magicals was in 1587 by the Roanoke Colony, more popularly known to non-magicals as "The Lost Colony." Much to Lex's chagrin, wizards and witches found the grim non-magical explanations for the Roanoke settlers' sudden disappearance to be quite humorous…

However, the modern-day convenience of The Inside Out was not in its location but in its flexibility. As long as a magical was within the magical region encompassed by The Inside Out, a simple thought could summon the most desirable shop or entrance to the magical's current location. The Inside Out would simply spin like a wheel on its fourth dimensional plane until the appropriate entrance appeared.

Lex had nearly shouted _Eureka_ when she first read the operational details of The Inside Out, because her earlier misadventures suddenly made sense. When she was searching for a pumpkin beverage, The Bloody Banshee appeared. When she was searching for answers, Flourish  & Fontaine appeared. When she was searching for an entrance non-magical Will could use, she found nothing.

Now, on October 23rd, 2016 at 8:27AM, Lex was searching for one of the main entrances into the general shopping area. There were alternative methods of travel that involved powders, fire, and spontaneous implosion, but Lex thought fourth-dimensional travel was quite enough adventure for a Sunday morning, thanks.

Bloated storm clouds had chosen today of all days to relieve themselves of their watery payloads. And, already Lex had failed to plan ahead. As usual, she had forgotten both her raincoat and her umbrella and thus stood drenched in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Lex's only comfort in the rapid downpour was that at least in this weather there wouldn't be as many magicals about to ask questions.

 _Southern Entrance to The Inside Out... Southern Entrance to the Western Precincts Market… Southern Entrance to the Western Precincts Market, please?_ she mentally pleaded.

Desperately spinning in place, waterlogged socks squishing with each step, Lex finally spotted an unusual indentation in the otherwise uniform street. Directly across the street, a small grove of multicolored oak trees now lined a wide cobblestone path extending down an alleyway composed of large moss-covered bricks.

Unlike the previous magical alleys she'd seen, this one hearkened back to a time of much older wilder magic. Man-made brick and stone seemed to merge seamlessly into the foliage, consumed by the natural forces surrounding it. Crimson, emerald, and golden oak leaves hung from branches coaxed into forming rounded archways. Honeysuckle vines draped from the thick tree trunks to crooked wooden lamp posts, which sprouted from the unkempt grass along the path.

As Lex proceeded carefully across the street and down the magical trail, the canopy of oak leaves sheltered her from the rain and cast the path into a shade that was soothing rather than oppressive. The glowing lamp posts grew brighter as the gentle hum originating ahead grew louder. Finally, the buzz broke into a lively clamor as voices, creaking doors, clattering objects, howls, laughter, and other unidentifiable sounds melded into the hustling bustling heartbeat of a marketplace.

Lex stepped into a spacious and surprisingly dry courtyard. Colorful bricks and decorative stones drew gorgeous sweeping patterns across the ground, while Victorian-era lamp posts outlined a quaint outdoor seating area enclosed by honeysuckle-covered trellis.

High above, the sky was warped into a giant dewy dome. Raindrops slid steadily upwards along the dome's surface, the sky apparently raining in reverse. The water droplets sparkled in the ambient light, their watery trails seemingly forming a canopy of shimmering holiday lights.

Beneath the awe-inspiring dome, warped tables, chairs, and doorknobs protruded from partial steel girders, curved brick walls, and bent wooden planks. Another bizarre product of The Inside Out's dimensional shift, parts of the no-maj city buildings "leaked" into the magical space, blending elements of the no-maj city into the magical architecture and creating these towering monuments to modern industrial art. It really looked as if several skyscrapers had been turned inside-out, cut in half, and glued to the dome wall.

Yes, curious warping effects and weather phenomena were known to commonly occur in The Inside Out. Lex had read as much, but she had no idea that it would be so _beautiful_. The descriptions she'd read simply could not do it justice. Words couldn't quite capture the scents of parchment, spices, savory meats, and moist earth as they melted into the the crispness of the air or the excited thrum of chattering pedestrians, ambling creatures, and raw magic as it vibrated deep within her chest.

Streets jutted out from the main courtyard in every direction, some streets winding, others straight as an arrow. Bright decorative storefronts dotted each street, while the spaces in between buildings displayed flat imagery of two-dimensional no-maj structures. Between an exotic pets store and a broom shop, for example, Lex spotted the flattened golden arches of a McDonald's.

These flat displays acted as locational markers, essentially "bookmarking" a relative location within the no-maj city. Since The Inside Out was magically compressed, magicals could more quickly teleport to any location within the no-maj city from within The Inside Out's dimensional walls. This could come in handy should a magical have an urgent need for, say, a cheeseburger.

However, Lex was not currently interested in a cheeseburger. She shivered slightly in her soggy coat, her soaked shirt and pants sticking tightly to her skin as she gazed about.

A large family with four twittering youngsters walked through the entrance behind her. Pushing past, the father grumbled _Pardon me_ as he collided with her left shoulder. Taking that as her cue to move along, Lex staggered out into the open courtyard, her shoes squeaking loudly.

Again, her pseudo-planning was failing her. She had set clear objectives, but only had a vague inclination as to how she might achieve them. Bereft a mall guide to The Inside Out, Lex decided to simply wander, trusting the magic of The Inside Out to guide her to her desire.

Approximately twenty-four minutes later, Lex stared through the windows of Jonker's Wandcraftery. The Inside Out was kept meticulously clean, and she had yet to see a discarded newspaper, a currency exchange, or so much as a dirty dragot in the gutter. Instead, she'd stumbled upon this mesmerizing storefront and was rapidly considering abandoning her pseudo-plan altogether.

The building was crafted simply but skillfully from pinewood planks. Sculpted pine frames rimmed its edges, lending the narrow building the appearance of a large wooden cabinet with two shelves. Jonker's required neither flashy signs nor extravagant decorations, because the quality of its wares was advertisement enough.

Within the storefront window, two sturdy wands rested on a raised pedestal. One wand was bent in a winding snake-like shape and inlaid by flowery mother of pearl accents. The other perfectly-straight symmetrical wand was overlaid entirely by mother of pearl. Both wands bespoke the majestic power lying dormant within their wooden shells.

Yes, even in the briefest mentions Lex had read, wands were always treated with clear reverence. Surrounded by mystery and mysticism, it was said the wand chooses the witch or wizard and not the other way around.

Lex was highly skeptical of a magical stick's ability to comprehend anything, but she was really really trying to work on that "limits of the impossible" thing. Thus, she decided to table this particular scientific inquiry into the sentience of sticks and focus on the utilitarian benefits of a wand for herself at the present moment.

Wands were a symbol of the divide between the magical and the non-magical. If a wand chose her to wield it, she must truly be magical. She wasn't quite sure what she was or why she was only discovering magic now, but Lex was sure of one thing - she had never wanted to be chosen for anything so badly.

Her yearning ached and echoed from deep within her bones until it overpowered all other considerations. If a wand chose her, she no longer had anything to fear from the magical authorities, and if not… well, she'd cross that fourth-dimensional bridge when she came to it.

* * *

Jeremiah Jonker began the twenty-third of October with the distinct lack of vigor that marked every day, as far as he was concerned. Briskly unlocking the seven magical padlocks installed at the back entrance of Jonker's Wandcraftery and disabling the Squib-friendly security wards, Jeremiah crossed the threshold into the main foyer of Uncle Jonker's living quarters.

To his left, a sturdy flight of wooden stairs led to the second floor, where his great-uncle resided. To his right, a plain door led to a spartan break room containing only an old corduroy couch, a square coffee table, and access to a cramped bathroom. Jeremiah sometimes spent the night on the couch rather than return to his parents' home, where his twelve bouncing blithering younger brothers and sisters frequently wrought havoc.

However, the day was still young, and Jeremiah had a store to open. He proceeded straight through the foyer's third door, which led to the main storeroom. Six long rows of shelving units supported stacks upon stacks of polished wooden wand boxes, and each row was lit by a single hanging light bulb. It was not a very wizardly lighting choice, but Johannes Jonker, the famed wandmaker and Jonker family idol, was no-maj-born, which meant the Jonker family stubbornly stuck to several no-maj traditions.

Wrinkling his pointy nose, Jeremiah held back a sneeze as the scent of fresh sawdust tickled his nostrils. Despite his frequent requests for an air-freshening charm, the Jonker family insisted that the smell was yet another important family tradition to be upheld. Johannes Jonker's father was a cabinet-maker, so practically anything connected to these carpentry roots became immutable family "tradition." Thus, to Jeremiah's dismay, nearly everything the Jonker family owned was wooden. Jeremiah lived surrounded by so many dead trees he often felt like a necrophilic tree nymph.

After visually verifying that no major catastrophe had struck the store in his nightly absence, Jeremiah unlocked the nine magical padlocks and disabled the nine Squib-friendly wards on the front customer entrance. He then dragged his wooden stool across the wooden floor and sat down behind the counter.

Brushing his stringy copper hair into a low ponytail, he stared at the padlocks on the door with his icy-grey eyes. There were always a few shady characters who'd poke around the wand shop, hoping to get their grubby hands on a powerful wand. The frequency of attempted burglaries had only risen ever since he'd begun working the register. A couple of weeks ago, his father even caught a small gang of industrious underage wizards trying to sneak in and "select" their first wand early.

The message was as clear as it was disrespectful - " _It's open season at Jonker's Wandcraftery, when there's only a squib in the store!"_

Ugh. Not even _underage_ wizards and witches regarded squibs with any semblance of respect. More often, they regarded squibs like Jeremiah with utter disdain, glancing at him like he was something grimy stuck to the bottom of a shoe. He was certainly no one they feared… Security-wise, his family would have been better off with a _Scourer_ manning the store. Yes, as insufferable as it was, in the eyes of the wizarding world he was little better than a no-maj.

Jeremiah's upper lip curled in disgust as he slouched onto the counter, head propped up against his right fist. It was "tradition" for the eldest Jonker to apprentice to the current Jonker wandmaker. However, Jeremiah was as magically barren as the dead wooden floorboards beneath his feet. He couldn't even _wield_ a wand, let alone make one.

He knew his family wished he was a late-bloomer rather than a squib. He had wished so as well…

Instead of attending Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft & Wizardry like his brothers and sisters, he'd been tutored and trained in the operations of the wand shop. His siblings spent their summers training in the shop, as was customary for Jonker children, but Jeremiah had spent nearly every day in this blasted shop since he was 11 years old.

Growing up, his family gave him "extra-special" attention. Every so often, during a lunch break or at his birthday party or during a camping retreat, his father and mother would "subtly" slip an interesting wand into his hands, hoping it'd choose him. None ever did. Each time he was forced to disappoint, watching everyone's downcast faces and weak smiles, enduring their hollow words of false comfort. Eventually, Jeremiah turned 17, a legal adult incapable of attending a wizarding school, and his family gave up.

A set of small silver bells jingled as the front door creaked slowly open. While the no-maj artifact chimed its greeting, Jeremiah quickly stood and repositioned himself into a more professional posture. He plastered a thin tight-lipped smile onto his face. It was truly all he could manage.

A practically-mummified young woman stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind her. Her head was weighed down by a bunch of wet wool, only her eyes visible behind the long soggy scarf stuck to her face. As water trickled down her sides, pooling about the wooden floor, Jeremiah thought she looked like the human equivalent of a drowned cat. Wait… That would be a drowned human… No, that wasn't right…

"Hello. Good morning," she rasped hesitantly.

Jeremiah raised a thin eyebrow and fought back an unprofessional sneer. Whoever this water-soaked woman was, her wand was bound to be unimpressive - as unimpressive as a Jonkers wand could be anyway. If this was a good morning for her, he'd hate to see what happened to her on a _bad_ one.

"I assume you'd like to look at some wands," he began, eyes darting down to the growing puddle on the floor, "but, I'm afraid you'll have to dry off, before I can allow you to handle them."

Scarf girl held her arms out, surveying her body, before mumbling through the scarf, "Oh. Yes, yes. Right. Of course…"

To Jeremiah's surprise, she turned to exit the shop.

"Um, where are you going?" he asked in a bored monotone.

"I figured I'd walk around outside until I dry off," she began hesitantly, before adding in an attempt to clarify, "I will return as soon as I'm dry."

It was unusual that a witch allowed herself to become drenched like this and even more unusual that she wouldn't just dry herself off with a spell afterwards. Jeremiah had to conclude that she didn't currently have a wand and probably wasn't skilled at wandless magic. He wondered what misfortune led to the destruction of her wand. Perhaps the recent Scourer attacks?

"Wait. So you're going to just walk outside… and wait for the air to dry all of _that_?" Jeremiah scoffed incredulously, gesturing in a circular motion from her waterlogged clothing to the puddle on the floor.

"Well, yes…"

"Yeah, that's not going to work for me," Jeremiah stated flatly.

"Ex-excuse me?" she practically whimpered.

"I'm not going to sit around waiting for you to air-dry - that could take hours. And if you can't even dry yourself off, it looks like I'm going to have my work cut out for me, picking out wands. I'd rather start early and get this over with."

"Wow, someone skipped their coffee this morning," she laughed.

As soon as she'd blurted out her retort, however, she slapped a hand over her mouth and winced. This was the first time Jeremiah had heard her speak without sounding like a kicked puppy. He scowled but otherwise ignored the comment. After a lifetime of being bullied by squib haters and sympathizers alike, he'd developed a rather thick skin.

Jeremiah strolled past her and propped the door open against his shoulder.

At a plucky six-and-a-quarter feet tall, he had to duck the swinging jingling bells, before continuing with a huff, "Now, if you'll follow me around back, you can dry off in the employee bathroom. We have self-drying towels… It's no-maj stuff, but beggars can't be choosers. If you don't like it, then maybe you should take better care of your wand next time."

The girl didn't argue. Instead, she obediently followed him around the side of the building and into the small back alley, which ran behind a row of shops. He left the back door unlocked when he was inside the store, so it was a simple matter to lead her into the stuffy employee break room.

"Wow. You really like wood, huh… Is that a wooden _plant_?" the girl asked incredulously.

She pointed at the wooden vase full of wooden red-green-and-white-painted poppies on the coffee table.

Jeremiah groaned and rolled his eyes. "Yes. What does it look like? It's a wooden plant, okay?"

He unceremoniously threw open the door to the bathroom.

The hanging light bulb flickered on as he added darkly, "For the record - I _hate_ wood. But, unfortunately, wood comes with the Jonker name. So, just be glad the towels aren't made of wood too."

Before she could comment, he stomped out of the break room to wait in the main foyer.

After fifteen minutes of boredom, he plodded halfway up Uncle Jonker's stairs and grabbed some replacement towels from the supply closet on the first platform. Thanks to the overwhelming stench of sawdust, Jeremiah sneezed thrice, before he could finally slam shut the supply closet door.

Cradling the stack of towels, he returned to the break room, where he found the bathroom door ajar. The liquid-siphoning charms on the towels had apparently done their job, as the girl appeared to have already finished drying off her body and most of her clothes. She stood facing the bathroom mirror, while she wrung water from her scarf into the sink.

As he stepped forward to place the stack of towels on the coffee table, she looked up and her reflected face came into full view in the mirror. Or at least, what was left of her face came into view - her visage was so covered in cuts and bruises that he could hardly see her at all. The Scourer theory was beginning to sound more and more likely.

"What happened to your face?" he inquired rudely.

"Well… you know… I woke up like this?" she laughed mirthlessly, before revising her answer, "No, actually, I just… I just had a really really bad day."

"Wow. Vague much?" Jeremiah drawled.

"Actually, yes." she chuckled, smirking at him through her reflection in the mirror.

It was amazing that he could identify even an expression on that travesty of a face, but somehow she managed to make her smugness shine clearly through.

"Why haven't you seen a healer? Or at least bought a potion?" he asked, unable to hide the nagging concern in his voice.

He'd gazed at his own face bruised and disfigured in the mirror many times growing up. One time, after a particularly nasty round of "Spook the Squib," a game where the neighborhood kids each tried to hit him with the scariest hex, a Pepper-Breath Hex had superheated his breath to scalding hot temperatures. Wearing a hood and a scarf not entirely different from this girl's headwear, Jeremiah had screamed at one of the bullies, then screamed again as fiery hot breath rebounded all over his face. The more his burning face melted, the more Jeremiah screamed until his entire face was bubbling and peeling like a burnt piece of plastic. One of the older children finally extinguished the hex, but Jeremiah still spent days with a melted face, while the healers nursed him back to health. He didn't know what hex hit this girl, but he knew it must have been horribly unpleasant.

Several seconds passed and she simply stared at him contemplatively through the mirror. Her smile had been replaced with a slight frown, while she appraised him. Was she sad? Angry? It was difficult to tell through the mask of bruises.

Finally, she answered, rolling each word over her tongue with a thoughtful air, "I would like to see a healer, but I don't know where the local one is or how much they might charge me. And, I _would_ buy a potion, but I'm afraid I must exchange some money first. Do you… know of a local currency exchange? I need to exchange dollars for dragots."

"Oh," he said, quite surprised.

 _This witch must truly be clueless. And that's coming from a home-schooled squib…_ Jeremiah thought bitterly.

"I can give you directions to the healer, if you'd like, but I don't know how much he'll charge you. There's a two dragot base fee, plus whatever additional costs there might be for your particular treatment. As for dollars… you mean no-maj money, right?"

She nodded in response, so Jeremiah continued, "Huh. Well, you'll want to try the bank for that. They'll probably ask you a few questions about why you're using 'dollars' in the first place, but it shouldn't be too much of a problem… What'd you do anyway? Win some money off a Scourer?"

He had posed his last question as if it were a joke, but he was hopeful she'd satisfy at least _some_ of his curiosity. Grinning broadly, he watched as her brow furrowed in the mirror.

She patted her scarf dry with one of the towels, before answering tentatively, "Err… Yeah, something like that."

Jeremiah snorted, before rolling his eyes.

"Well, I just hope you've got _something_ less cryptic to say to the Puks at the bank," he sighed.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly cut her off, gaze sweeping over her mangled face.

"Look. I've got a few potions for cuts and bruises. I doubt it will heal all… _that_ ," he said, wrinkling his face, "but at least you won't have to wear that head wrap all the way to the healer."

Her wide eyes returned his gaze as a subtle smile crept across her lips. They simply blinked at each other for a long moment, while she beamed. You would think he'd just offered to pay her entire school tuition rather than offered her a mere dose of the basic potions in the upstairs medicine cabinet…

"That would be so amazing. Thank you," she very-nearly-squealed.

Feeling increasingly awkward, Jeremiah ran a hand through his hair, partially dislodging his ponytail holder.

He shuffled out the door, murmuring, "Uh… Yeah… Well, I'll just go upstairs and grab those then…"

Very eager to get this awkward interaction over with, he bounded up the stairs, long legs jumping three steps at a time. Then, he crept quietly through Uncle Jonker's front door, slipped into his bathroom, and quickly grabbed one bottle of Bruise-Be-Gone and one bottle of Cut Concealer from the rather large medicine cabinet standing by the door.

The extensive collection of minor healing potions contained within had been used almost exclusively for Jeremiah's frequent childhood injuries. His siblings even playfully referred to it as "Jeremiah's Cabinet."

He stomped carefully back down the stairs, a potion bottle in each hand. Unexpectedly, the girl now stood in the doorway to the break room, her hands clasped behind her back.

"You know, I never did get your name. I'm Alexandra. Or Lex, if you like," she said with a friendly smile.

"Jeremiah," he replied briskly, eager to move past the social pleasantries.

"Now, give these a swig," he ordered, raising each bottle in turn, before pressing them to her open palms, "and we can get back to finding you a wand."

Lex stood stiffly, staring quizzically at the two bottles she held level with her chest. Perhaps she was trying to verify the contents. Most people weren't in the habit of sipping on strange potions after all.

"Afraid I'm slipping you a love potion, Lex? Or, perhaps, some poison, eh?"

"What? No!" she gasped, looking genuinely surprised, "No, it's just that… Well, do you really just drink straight from the potion bottle?"

"Uh… yes?" he answered, with a blank stare.

 _What was she expecting? Crystal wine glasses?_ he thought exasperatedly.

"Oh," she paused, her mouth held in a perfect 'O' shape, before finally explaining, "Well, it just seems like you'd get some nasty chemical interactions, when the potions mix with the backwash. I mean, not to mention the germs…"

She sipped once from each bottle, while Jeremiah tried to make sense of her statement.

Furrowing his brow, he finally asked, "Germs?"

"Yeah, you know, germs… bad for hygiene, good for making you sick," she answered teasingly, as if the meaning of words like "chemicals" and "germs" was too obvious to warrant an explanation.

Was this girl saying he and his family had bad hygiene? Whatever chemicals were, they were apparently "nasty," and she was apparently concerned that drinking from his bottle would make her sick.

"I'll have you know, I have excellent hygiene," he snarled, narrowing his eyes into his most fearsome icy-grey glare.

"Oh. No. Wow. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you didn't! Never mind the germs… Uh, thank you so much," she said, holding the potion bottles out towards him and hurriedly switching topics, "I think I can feel it working already."

Jeremiah yanked the bottles from her hands and gruffly deposited them onto the nearest wooden end table. The red-black-and-blue bruises on Lex's face were slowly fading into a pale golden glow. Jeremiah watched as the ripped skin surrounding her cuts slowly knitted itself back together.

A minute later, Lex tenderly stroked the smooth skin on her face, which was currently molded into an expression of utter glee. The unusually-speedy transformation was quite shocking, and Jeremiah was even more surprised to find an attractive human being standing before him. Long lashes, watery with joyous tears, swept over high cheekbones. A tall refined nose pointed to a pair of plump healthy lips.

"Wow, that worked so much better than I thought!" he exclaimed excitedly.

Her hands froze on her cheeks for a moment, amber eyes wide as saucers. Thus far he'd been nothing but surly and sarcastic towards her, so his chipper outburst must have come as quite a surprise.

Clearing his throat, he quickly returned to his practiced professional facade, asking politely, "Now, shall we go find you a new wand?"

If he thought her reaction to a healed face was utter glee, then her reaction to the promise of a new wand had climbed to previously uncharted heights. She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet as she nodded an enthusiastic _Yes_. Jeremiah shook his head and led her back around to the front of the shop.

Walking swiftly through the front door and across the room to a wall covered in elegant drawer handles, he grasped a wooden handle and threw his weight back against it. Immediately, a long wooden rack unfolded from the wall and extended halfway across the width of the building. As the rack reached its full extent, it screeched to a halt, jerking back against Jeremiah's pull.

Twenty-five wands, each resting on a plush purple pillow, laid side by side and collectively covered the entire span of the wooden rack. Jeremiah had a hunch that Lex would match to a flexible wand, and each wand in this particular set was extremely pliable. Unlike the rest of his family, he couldn't sense the raw magical energies surrounding a wand or a customer, so he relied instead on his observational skills and instincts.

"Pick up whatever wand strikes your fancy and give it a wave. If it chooses you, you'll know," he stated simply.

Lex's right hand hovered tentatively over each wand as she walked solemnly down the length of the rack. The awe and respect she wore so visibly reminded Jeremiah of the many days and nights he spent poring over these same wand racks as a child. When he knew he was alone, he'd hold one of the wands close and whisper sweet nothings into the wood. Bribery, flattery… He'd offered all, but none of the wands ever accepted his deals.

About halfway down the rack, Lex gingerly lifted a gnarled birchwood wand. Its dark beige wood twisted into a coiled helix, the helix accented by a strip of inlaid nacre. Jeremiah noted that it was exceptionally long, looking to be about 14.5 inches.

Suddenly, Lex swished the wand once through the air and rocketed backwards into the display window.

The raised display pedestal teetered back and forth, and the two wands it supported were sent rolling over the edge. They bounced off of Lex's head and clattered down onto the ground. Slightly dazed, she stared mournfully at the wand, which now rested so innocently in her hand.

Jeremiah had experienced the kickback he'd just witnessed, as well as the subsequent disappointment, more times than he could count. When a wand didn't choose a witch or wizard, the wand would often misfire in quirky ways. However, wands only reacted _that_ vehemently to one type of wielder…

"Lex, are you a squib?"


	3. Of Terror & Tabloids

||_ _Author's Foreword_ _||

 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS: gore, language, terror, violence_**

 _There is an ambiguous statement by J.K. Rowling on Arabella Figg's ability to see a dementor. Since there is not a clear contradiction, however, I will assume that squibs are capable of seeing and accessing magical locations due to magical blood markers._

 _I've written a lengthy plot outline, which is practically a book in and of itself, and I'm super excited for some of the scenes I have lined up. However, what I *haven't* completely decided on yet is **which canon Harry Potter characters** I want to bring in first or at all. It will take some time to encounter them in a believable way, but I'd love to hear any thoughts or suggestions you may have (I'm open to all time periods, as well)!_

* * *

~ Three ~ **  
Of Terror & Tabloids**

* * *

 _I'm an idiot_ , thought Lex bitterly as she squeezed the coarse ridges of the beautiful birchwood Jonkers wand into her palm, her knuckles blanching white beneath her grip.

Rejection always stung, but getting thrown across the room and then knocked on the head by some unattainable magical sticks really twisted that knife in deeper and drove the point home. Salt in the wound… Insult to injury…

Ugh. Truly, this was not her proudest moment. Lex usually prided herself on maintaining a firm, yet flexible grip on logic, and weighing her emotions objectively against what was reasonable. She may prefer the spontaneity of thinking on her feet to tedious planning sessions, but the keyword of the phrase was _thinking_.

What had she been thinking? Wands weren't even on today's agenda! If you want to get caught, what better place to advertise your magical deficiencies than a wand shop? Honestly, really - _what the exquisitely-framed rubber duck!_

"Lex, are you a squib?" Jeremiah asked, whispering the word "squib," as if the label were some sort of death sentence.

Luckily, Lex was about 95 percent sure that being a squib, the non-magical offspring of magical folk, was _not_ a death sentence, as squibs were neither terminally-ill nor sentenced to death for merely existing. She was about 85 percent sure attempts to acquire a wand didn't result in immediate death for squibs… about 50 percent sure it wouldn't result in penalizing arrest…

 _Okay, seriously. I'm an idiot, and these numbers aren't helping_ , she thought furiously.

Jeremiah's dusty black dress shoes clacked against the wooden floorboards as he slowly closed the distance between them. Seconds later, the clacking stopped, and his tall lean body loomed overhead. As he crouched into a sitting position and matched his eye level to hers, Lex broke from her morose contemplation. She realized that her right hand was now almost numb from its tight grip on the birchwood wand and that she still hadn't answered the young wandmaker's question.

Staring into Jeremiah's cold silvery eyes, which seemed paradoxically warm at the moment, she answered brokenly, "I don't know. I don't know what I am… I thought maybe… I thought…"

Again, what had she thought? Her best answer was that she hadn't been thinking at all. Her better question was what had she been _feeling_? Far too much, unfortunately, far too much.

Desperation clawed at her insides like a caged animal. This animal was starving and hungry. She'd ridden the miserable train of cynicism and apathy to the brink of death and nearly plunged over that ragged cliff into the darkness beyond. Now someone was dangling a juicy steak in front of her metaphorical cage, and she was relearning what it meant to achingly crave, to dream, to desire.

It had been so long since she'd felt the sparks of hope or passion or faith. Clearly, yet perhaps predictably, she had underestimated the emotional effects of nearly dying, reviving, and discovering a previously-non-existent fantasy world… Really, how would someone prepare for a revival like that anyway? There was no doubt in Lex's mind - she needed to reassert some self-discipline immediately, and she would begin by resisting her urgent, pressing need to face-palm.

"I'm a squib too," Jeremiah said softly, without a trace of his usual mockery or sarcasm.

His brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes glimmered as he scrutinized her face. He eyed her anxiously, as if she were a fragile porcelain doll in danger of spontaneously shattering.

Lex didn't like it one bit. Jeremiah was supposed to be rude and sardonic. Yes, he was obviously quite kind and helpful in action, but he and his caustic remarks hadn't balked before at her bruise-riddled face. Why would he pity her now? Was being a squib so terrible?

"I don't understand… I've been feeling so… _different_ lately. I've changed," she muttered insistently, eyes searching Jeremiah's for answers, "I thought maybe I'm just a - just a late-bloomer."

Jeremiah laughed darkly, scrunching his face into a pained smile, "Ah, yes. The mythical 'late-bloomer.' Let me know if you ever find one! You have a better chance of finding a Hidebehind in total darkness than _that_ squib fairy-tale."

Lex hadn't found any textual information on Hidebehinds yet, but both the name and, thus, Jeremiah's analogy seemed pretty straightforward. She assumed it was a creature that liked to hide. It liked to hide behind things… Yes.

"Wait," she started abruptly, the irony dawning on her, "You're a squib. And you work in a _wand shop_? Isn't that a little…"

"Yes. Thank you, Lex. I am quite aware of the irony," he stated dryly, "As I suppose you already know, being a squib doesn't exactly leave you with a wealth of job opportunities."

He rolled his eyes lazily, before narrowing them into a mocking glare. For the first time, Jeremiah appeared to genuinely relax around her, a friendly smile upon his lips. Even better was the welcome return of his sass, which Lex greeted with extreme pleasure by promptly responding in kind.

"So, you can't perform magic or use a wand, and naturally the job of choice is to surround yourself with wands all day, help a bunch of entitled magicals with their wands, and generally just draw attention to the fact that you're a squib?"

Jeremiah snorted, then retorted, mockingly imitating Lex's intonation, "So, _you_ can't perform magic or use a wand, and naturally your pastime of choice is to get drenched on rainy weekend mornings, submit yourself to abuse by wand, and generally just draw attention to the fact that _you're_ a squib?"

"Touché, sir," Lex chuckled.

The magicless pair grinned at each other for a long moment. Jeremiah's black robes hung loosely about his shoulders, brushing the floor, and his skinny mauve tie knocked against his knees as he laughed in return. The magical tie's tacky pattern of miniature, cartoon wands danced about the cloth in a dizzying motion, and a loose swath of copper hair lay wrapped around his pale neck.

Lex hadn't spent much time around wizards, of course, but she imagined Jeremiah's appearance to be the quintessential image of "wizard casual." He _was_ the first person she'd met since she'd accepted the existence of the wizarding world, after all. Silly details like his wizard robes or his medieval-esque hairstyle would most likely seem dull or commonplace to magicals, but she relished the enchanting novelty of every mysterious, new, cultural aspect he presented. Yes, she could definitely get used to this.

Finally, feeling considerably enlivened, Lex stood and shifted the birchwood wand to her left hand, before offering her right to assist the still-crouching, confused-looking Jeremiah. His manners were, fortunately, not so medieval-esque as to refuse help from a woman. Thus, after eyeing her with a thoughtful smirk, he grasped her hand tightly, and she helped hoist him to his feet.

In hindsight, Lex was glad that she had misadventured into Jonker's Wandcraftery. Perhaps there really was some value in trusting her gut and putting a bit of faith in magic to guide her after all. Before her run-in with that speeding Ferrari, she had allowed herself to become so isolated that she'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to truly connect and enjoy another's company.

Admittedly, it was quite pathetic that it had taken a near-death experience to free her from the rut of depression into which she'd fallen, and it was quite possibly unfair that she was dangerously choosing to interact with magical people, who may never know her true identity, rather than her loyal no-maj friends like Will. However, without adequate proof of magic, her no-maj friends would only try to take her back to the "normal" and "sane." People like Jeremiah, on the other hand, would help her to embrace the intoxicating insanity that was magic.

As her quirkiness and affection finally bubbled over, Lex titled her face upwards, fixed Jeremiah with a goofy grin, and asked gleefully, "Did we just become friends?"

After a momentary look of surprise, he chortled, "Ha! I suppose we did. You certainly could use a friend to help you stay out of trouble… and stay healthy… and stay… _dry_."

Now, it was Lex's turn to roll her eyes. She gave an exaggerated scoff and scowled at Jeremiah, though an insistent smile quickly crept back onto her face.

"Awesome," she said simply but never more sincerely.

As the conversation lulled into an amicable silence, Lex absently rubbed her lower back, where it had hit the wooden display platform mere moments ago. She was pleasantly surprised to find none of the tell-tale soreness that precedes a bruise.

Perhaps that bruise-healing potion endowed the drinker with lingering regenerative effects. Hm. That would certainly make sense from a pharmacological standpoint. It _would_ take some time for her body to fully metabolize the drug…

Spying the two display wands, which had rolled to rest unceremoniously between two respective cracks in the floorboards, Lex hurriedly bent to pick them up and return them to their rightful pedestal. She was surprisingly satisfied with the results of her magical mishappenings thus far, and decided not to press her luck - or Jeremiah's unexpected generosity.

 _I'm still an idiot, but I'm a lucky idiot_ , she thought humorously, _That's gotta count for something, right?_

Turning to face Jeremiah, she walked slowly backwards, finally pausing in front of the front door.

"Well, dear _friend_ , Jeremiah, I should probably get going. Chores and all… I'll do my best to stay healthy and dry without your much-needed assistance."

"Yes, well, you always -" he began, as the front door swung abruptly open and into her face, yielding a single resounding slap amidst the mocking jingles of the little doorbells hanging overhead.

"Oof!"

 _Okay, I take it back, universe. I am, indeed, an unlucky idiot. My bad_ , Lex mentally amended.

As the door slammed back into its frame, a burly bearded man stepped into Jonker's Wandcraftery. The man gave her one contemptuous glance, before turning his beady eyes towards Jeremiah. A series of vicious claw marks dug deep, pink gashes into his dark skin, the scars starting at his right temple, tracing across his strong jaw, and eventually disappearing behind a mass of neat dreadlocks. A heavy, leather cloak fell to his knee-high boots, but his rippling muscles were still apparent beneath the bulk. Under the circumstances, he was the sort of man you should be glad to have spare you only a single glance.

"I need to buy me some spare wands," he drawled in a voice thick and husky, "Two or three should do."

Jeremiah crossed his arms, glancing back and forth from Lex to the man, an expression of mixed shock and indignation on his face.

"Excuse me -" he began, with an angry scoff.

 _Is he really going to confront this guy?_ thought Lex in amazement.

Lex hated to leave Jeremiah with the intimidating man, but she definitely didn't need him getting into an argument oh her behalf. Before he could say anything else to provoke the man, she shouted a hasty _See you later!_ and dashed out the front door.

Approximately forty-three feet down the street from Jonker's Wandcraftery, Lex slowed from her brisk jog to a pleasant, leisurely pace. Directly ahead, the colorful bricks and stones of the street appeared to flow apart, dividing themselves into a river of shiny, metallic plates and golden brick to the left, and smooth, rune-covered, obsidian stone to the right.

Lex surveyed the rooftops in either direction, hoping to glean some information on where each path led. However, The Inside Out wasn't a place for street signs or directions. It was a place for navigating simply by one's desires. Thus, Lex pushed the morning's events out of her mind and decided it was probably best to figure out what her desires actually were, before continuing on her renewed shopping quest. She'd tested her luck enough for one day.

 _So, now I'm a squib_ , Lex mused as she paused beside a painted, steel bench along the near wall.

She slid down onto the bench and rested her head against the russet bricks of the wall behind her. Then, she allowed her eyes to glaze over in preparation for a much-needed brainstorm session. Yes, Lex was an expert at daydreaming. A proper disconnect from reality takes practice and dedication and, oh, Lex had certainly put in the time…

 _How could I be a squib? As much as I may wish it sometimes, I'm not adopted, and aren't squibs always part of magical families?_ Lex thought, her practiced dreamy expression wrinkling in confusion as she puzzled over the problem, _You'd think MACUSA would have noticed long ago if it were possible for random squibs to pop up and discover the magical world all out of the blue!_

Furthermore, Lex was fairly certain that she'd been through the city's historical sector, which housed The Inside Out, at least once or twice before. Perhaps she hadn't paid much attention or bothered to memorize the basic layout during these visits, but, surely, she would've remembered a bunch of magical buildings peeking out of surprise alleyways… right?

Plus, her research had pointed to magical activity occurring all across town, not just at The Inside Out. If she had always been a squib, she would have noticed something magical at some point over the years, surely. No, there was simply no way that she had always been a squib. Something had changed… but what?

The first occurrence of the "magic" phenomenon, at least as far as she knew, was the opportune appearance of The Bloody Banshee after she had wandered away from the hospital. The hospital workers _had_ called her recovery a "miracle," so Lex supposed that her miraculous recovery might have been a magical occurrence as well. However, she had no firsthand knowledge to support such an assumption, and Lex thought people used the term "miracle" much too liberally anyway.

Thus, her best estimate of the onset of her "squibness," as she was calling it, would be sometime between the morning of October 13th, her birthday and near-death-day, and the afternoon of October 21st, the day she was released from the hospital. Clearly, something out of the ordinary had transpired, so she thought it best to list any unusual observations or events, which had occurred during that specific time frame.

There was nothing magical about the coffee shop visit or her mishandled coffee order - that much was certain. Moving along, Ferraris were kind of magical, but hit-and-runs were not so much… And, even her science-fiction-addled brain wasn't buying the "car crash unlocked new parts of my brain" theory. She seriously questioned the integrity of _any_ universe in which brain damage was suddenly advisable.

Lex was discarding any "squibness" explanations that involved the exposure of _other_ non-magicals to magic. While it was quite possible that there were other newfound squibs running around, Lex felt that the fact that she hadn't been caught yet was proof enough against that particular hypothesis. Because, please - what were the chances that a bunch of no-maj discovered magic all at the same time and _nothing_ made it onto the internet? Seriously. Not even a Facebook post. She had no doubt that if there _were_ others, they would have all been tweeting their way to the Auror office by now.

Over the course of that fateful birthday week, the only isolated incidents, in which no one but Lex herself was affected, occurred at the dreary hospital. Thankfully, the universe had finally revealed a benefit to the mind-boggling dullness that had pervaded Lex's week-long hospital stay. Well, other than not dying, of course - that had been highly beneficial.

Anyway, there were only three unusual and, thus, interesting observations she had made over the cour week. Firstly, there was the framed stock photo of a beagle staring at a dandelion. Secondly, there was the odd positioning of the television set, because, honestly, why squeeze a TV into a corner from which there is not a single decent angle of visibility? And, thirdly, there was Dr. Goldstein and his creepy blood transfusion.

 _Hmm. That beagle was super suspicious, but, really, I think I'm leaning towards Dr. Goldstein as the culprit on this one, Lex_ , she thought mockingly in the third person, _Dr. Goldstein with the blood in the beagle room…_

Yes, it was definitely odd that her doctor had used his own blood in her exchange transfusion. Was that even legal? Lex stuffed a hand into her jacket pocket and almost pulled out her cellphone but quickly thought better of it. There was no reason to advertise her no-maj tendencies anymore than she already had. She'd simply have to wait and research these blood matters online later…

Blood matters.

An image of the second floor sign at Flourish & Fontaine flashed through Lex's memory. Adjacent to the shelves of the "No-Maj Relations" section at Flourish & Fontaine was the "Blood Matters" section, which held all sorts of archived genealogical materials, as well as several authoritative works on the purity of magical blood.

There seemed to be a debate amongst witches and wizards, as to the effects of "quality" in-breeding on magical inheritance. Lex might have reserved judgment on the unfamiliar topic had the arguments for pure-blood supremacy not bled over into the issues of no-maj relations. Pure-blood supremacists seemed to regard non-magicals as lower than mud, and Lex, frankly, didn't care how much genetics might have backed up their arguments, because their bigoted in-bred attitudes were entirely unacceptable, thank you very much.

However, what if blood really _did_ matter? The more Lex contemplated Dr. Goldstein and his strange "donation" to her cause, the more certain she became that his blood was the source of her "squibness." She had no idea if he was a wizard or a squib himself, but she made a quick mental note to search through the wizard genealogy books she had photographed for any Goldstein family references.

As if the hand of Goldstein had suddenly parted the dome-shaped skies and released a bolt of lightning upon her head, Lex was immediately struck with the frightening realization that if her "squibness" was, indeed, the product of a blood transfusion, then her abilities were entirely temporary. Dr. Goldstein had revealed in one of his obnoxious, self-serving jokes that Lex's own blood would replace Goldstein's in approximately a month.

Now, like some sick twisted countdown hourglass, her body was slowly pumping new non-magical blood into her circulatory system, while the magical blood cells filtered out and died. Continuing the gory metaphor, she could imagine bloody grains of sand pouring heedlessly down into the lower half of her hourglass figure. Worse still, the bloody metaphorical hourglass would pronounce that her first week had already been used up. Shit.

Lex jumped to her feet, suddenly very anxious to move her plans along. Three more weeks of squibness simply wasn't enough. Lex was convinced that no time limit would ever be "enough," for she adamantly refused to be trapped in a non-magical world ever again.

Unable to contain her restlessness, she propelled herself quickly down the shiny, metallic street on the left, her body seemingly taking on a mind of its own. Her anxiety soon reached a startling intensity, her heart thumping a steady beat against her chest, as if it were a piston driving her body's engine to turn faster and faster. With each heartbeat, she was thrust further down the shimmering street, and she once again felt maddeningly like a frantic freight train hurtling towards the edge of a cliff.

Now, with the sands of time flowing against her, she had become a woman possessed of a single purpose, one single objective of sheer perfect clarity.

 _I must get to the bank. I must get to the bank_ , Lex thought, the mantra stuck on repeat in her head.

Lex wanted to explore magic. She needed to get her hands on some magical proof. She needed to convince someone to help her, because, Heaven knows, she certainly couldn't do this all on her own. She needed to find a way to hold onto her squibness. And, unfortunately, none of these needs would be fulfilled for free.

 _Good to know financial difficulties are a constant, no matter how magical the universe_ , Lex thought bitterly.

Walking around with single-minded purpose was apparently an _excellent_ way to navigate The Inside Out. Lex soon found the shiny golden path at her feet opening into an equally shiny, albeit much more decorative, empty courtyard. A single building cast an imposing shadow across the embossed metal plates and marble tiles that composed the courtyard, and it was blaringly obvious that this building was the focal point of the entire square.

Braced against the side of The Inside Out's gigantic dome, a shady grove of dark willow trees, beset by dark mist, appeared to fuse into the twisted metal girders and partial concrete walls of a remnant skyscraper. Protruding from the copse of willows was a grand towering building of petrified wood. The single sloped roof was cut into jagged steps, as the front face of the building appeared to be composed of layered tree trunks. A second line of thick petrified tree trunks was planted a few feet in front of the building, the pillars lit by fiery torches and supporting a heavy bronze roof upon which was engraved in bold lettering "Bank of the Fae." Below the metallic awning, an ornate bronze door was flanked by framed windows covered in delicately-woven crosshatch. The crosshatch material looked more like mossy vines than wood.

Jeremiah had advised her to prepare a basic explanation for the "Puks," but Lex had neglected to ask what "Puks" actually were. For the sake of appearances, it was probably best that she hadn't asked such suspiciously no-maj questions, but now she found herself once more in the awkward position of having no idea what awaited her on the other side of a massive metal door.

Did the Bank of the Fae serve only faeries, or was it just run by faeries? And, for that matter - holy crap, did faeries really exist? She'd seen magical creatures depicted in the stained glass at Flourish & Fontaine and, of course, seen mention of werewolves, hags, and Abraham-Lincoln-loving vampires in the store's books. However, reading about a mythical creature and meeting one in the flesh were two very different things. She'd been reading awfully inconsistent stories about mythical creatures since childhood, but now, here she was, like an astronaut visiting an alien world for first contact. She was possibly about to meet members of another species - a species with magical powers.

 _One small step for no-maj kind?_ Lex mused, humming nervously to herself as she began brainstorming hopefully decent and decently hopeful explanations for why she was exchanging no-maj money.

Honestly, wouldn't a simple _I'm a squib_ suffice? Squibs had more reason than most to linger in the no-maj world, and she sincerely hoped her first encounter with another species wouldn't devolve into an interrogation of probing questions. She meandered towards the building's pillar treeline, while struggling to reign in a better plan than " _let's just wing it_."

 _BOOM! SMASH! SHRIEK! THUD!_

Without warning, a fiery explosion burst through the bank windows, its forceful impact smashing through the woven windows, scattering splintered wood and shattered glass shards all about the courtyard. One hurtling glass shard scraped a thin slice of skin from Lex's left cheek as it flew past with a swoosh, and a menacing sliver of petrified wood embedded itself in her winter coat, just above the waist.

The heavy, bronze doors had been blown from their hinges and sent crashing down onto the courtyard floor with a reverberant thud. Metal shrieked and concrete crumbled as the partial skyscraper collapsed towards the ground with a shudder and a moan. When the no-maj structure finally struck the pavement, trees toppled and a cloud of dust gusted through the courtyard.

Even at her relatively safe distance from the bank, Lex could feel the earth trembling beneath her feet. The piercing whine of her ringing ears concealed the clinking noises that inevitably emanated from the hundreds of courtyard tiles, which were currently rattling violently in their foundations.

Amidst this unsettling silence, Lex stood petrified by the horrific scene. Smoke billowed out from the bank windows, as well as the now-empty door frame, and a raging inferno superheated the surrounding petrified wood to a devilish red glow. A man she recognized, the man who had bumped into her shoulder earlier that morning, hung limply across a window by the door, a jagged wooden post speared through his chest. One of his children cooked beneath his clasped arms as licks of white-hot flame charred both of their bodies red-and-black. More crumpled unmoving silhouettes were visible within the blaze beyond, and Lex was perversely thankful that she was currently too deaf to hear their screams.

Her stomach lurched, and her eyes stung from both salty tears and falling ash. She had been mere seconds away from the entrance, and, oh God, that was almost her. That was almost her. She almost died. She almost died, again.

She didn't want to see the dead father any longer. She didn't want to see the charred child, whom he couldn't save. She didn't want to think about the large family of which they had been a part. She didn't want to think about where the mother and siblings might be. But she couldn't look away. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

Ambient background noises were finally fading back into her awareness, and the first sound of which she became abundantly aware was a steady voice, speaking calmly over the raucous wail of a blaring siren.

"EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN, EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. Please remain calm. ALL METHODS OF TRAVEL ARE CURRENTLY RESTRICTED. Please remain calm. Help is on the way."

The thunderous voice continued on loop, repeating its edict again and again. The words "emergency," and "lockdown" were hammered into Lex's mind, seemingly vibrating through her skull. Distant screams, sobs, and cries of panic melded into a cacophony of raw untethered emotions as the air swelled thick, laden heavy with fear. A sporadic stream of distraught persons ran past, their frantic footsteps echoing through the courtyard, along with the scraping of loosened tiles underfoot. The blooming haze of smoke and ash obscured all but the diversity of their silhouettes, as well as the occasional set of glowing eyes or a beaming wand.

The anxiety of Lex's waning squibness was long forgotten. It had been replaced by the anxiety that accompanies nothing but the purest forms of terror.

Lex turned and fled.

There was nowhere to run, but she needed to escape. Stumbling down the foggy street, Lex tripped over a loose brick, bashed her right knee against a brick wall, and bumped into several people, taking an elbow to her ribs and a couple of kicks to the shins. The cloudy haze, which encompassed her entire field of view, finally thinned as she turned down a familiar street leading back to the quaint courtyard at the southern entrance of The Inside Out. She finally slowed her pace to lean against one of the courtyard's perimeter walls and allowed a fit of coughs to overtake her. The few people standing near her quickly moved away, leaving Lex with an unobstructed view of the chaos.

The cheery courtyard would have appeared entirely unaffected by the prevailing crisis were it not for a flashing red gate blocking the southern entrance and the small crowds of onlookers gathering throughout the square. They whispered to one another and pointed at the bulging tower of smoke, which spiraled over the rooftops and ultimately collected, trapped, along the domed ceiling. Lex was in no mood to guess at the fluid mechanics of smoke in a modified fourth-dimensional space, but the smoke did not appear to be dispersing fast enough to avoid blocking out most of the sunlight. The sky had darkened considerably, and the harsh red light from the various emergency gates flashed pronouncedly against the dark clouds like crimson lightning.

Those in the crowd who had escaped the fallout of the explosion were easily identified by the layers of dust and ash that coated their faces and clothing. A kindly group of men and women roamed the courtyard, cleaning shell-shocked victims off with a mere flick of their wands.

Soon, a man with a long black braid thrown over each shoulder approached Lex and banished the grime from her body in one fluid motion. The shard of petrified wood embedded in her jacket instantly dislodged itself and clattered unceremoniously to the floor.

When the man spotted the gash on Lex's freshly-cleaned cheek, the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and his mouth drew into a tense line. Wordlessly, he touched the tip of his wand to her cut and held the wand in place for approximately nine seconds as an itchy tingle burrowed through her ripped skin. Finally, the man returned his wand and wand arm to his side.

Lex touched a trembling hand to her left cheek and confirmed that it was, indeed, whole once more.

"Thank you," she whispered, and the man gave a slow nod, before turning away to seek out another patient.

Exhaustion finally set in as Lex's body recovered from its clumsy sprint. Her situational awareness was slowly returning, now that the immediate danger had passed. However, her fear was anything but abated.

She had just witnessed something horrible. She didn't know what procedures MACUSA had in place for such emergencies, but given that they'd restricted all travel to and from The Inside Out, Lex could make a few educated guesses. Non-magicals were regrettably familiar with acts of terrorism, after all… Yes, if law enforcement prevented citizens from fleeing the vicinity, it could only be for a handful of unfortunate reasons, and all of the reasons might prove disastrous for her.

First, there was the likelihood that the MACUSA Aurors believed the culprit, or culprits, were still within the walls of The Inside Out. Second, if this was an embarrassing breach of security, the Aurors might be under some sort of political pressure to institute a massive coverup. Third, even if the Aurors believed the culprits had escaped, they may want to interview key witnesses, identify the victims, and survey the current occupants of The Inside Out to determine who might have been a possible target.

As encouraging as it was to see that some people knew how to effectively plan and execute said plans, Lex was not thrilled at the chance of interacting with Aurors in any capacity. She couldn't remember the phrase "wrong place, wrong time" ever applying more thoroughly than in the present moment. Who could be a better witness than the person fifty feet in front of the door, within full view of the door and windows, before and after the bank exploded?

 _I don't even have a plausible excuse for exchanging currency! How the hell am I going to make it through an interrogation with suspicious police officers?_ Lex thought, grimacing, _Oh why, oh why couldn't I be more into LARPing? I can't act for shit!_

Lex stiffened as the immobilizing chill of dread spread throughout her body, spreading until she at last felt as thoroughly frozen and transparently frigid as an ice sculpture. However, the fear was soon replaced by a resigned numbness. She had experienced more emotions in the past four hours than she had in the past four months, and Lex was immensely grateful for her logical subconscious' executive decision to simply "call it a day."

She could just imagine the internal dialogue her subconscious was having right now…

 _Hm, it looks like we've got yet another positively-identified threat… Yes, yes, a dose of dread might be helpful here… Engage survival instincts?_

 _No way, man! We've already run joy, sorrow, and unbridled terror today - I'm giving her all she's got!_

 _Okay, okay. Look, dude… I'd say we've got at least another hour before anything truly life-threatening pops up. What do you say we just put her on idle and come back to the emotions thing after a full system reboot?_

 _Okay! Lunch break?_

 _Lunch break._

Lex's stomach growled, and she immediately wished she hadn't skipped breakfast that morning. Of course, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to keep it in her stomach even if she had. Lex couldn't remember the last time she'd burnt that many calories on purpose or otherwise. Stomach churning in pain, she glanced around for a place to sit or, more specifically, to huddle while clutching her abdomen.

A bench, identical to the one she'd occupied earlier for her brainstorm session, rested in a nearby alcove. The tower of smoke had ceased rising, the flames at the bank apparently extinguished, and most of the onlookers were now returning to shops or ambling about, looking for seating. This alcove had been neglected, as it was angled towards the wall and away from anything of notable interest. However, Lex was emotionally numb at the moment and cared not for scenic views but only for some privacy with which to compose herself.

Drifting into the shady alcove, Lex slumped onto a bench. In an attempt to squeeze the pain out of her grumbling stomach, she bent over until her head was propped between her knees. Then, eyes clasped shut, she simply sighed, deciding to focus on nothing but breathing for the time being.

Several long full exhales later, Lex opened her eyes to stare at the bricks beneath her feet. Surprisingly, even magical bricks were more interesting than non-magical bricks. A dainty dandelion was carved into the slate brick directly below her face, and if she stared long enough, it seemed to dance and shift about the smooth slate square.

 _Huh. Guess that beagle was onto something_ , she chuckled to herself, before wincing at the spasms it sent through her constricting torso.

Glancing past her shoes, she glimpsed a flimsy corner of newspaper surreptitiously peeking out from underneath the bench. She quickly scooped it up and rejoiced at this stroke of good fortune. The newspaper, titled _The New York Ghost_ was dated October 13th, her birthday. Of course, it may have been outdated, but even outdated magical news would be news to her. If she was, indeed, about to be caught, at least she'd managed to accomplish _one_ of her goals first.

Her eyes darted to the bold newspaper headline, but the text was immediately swallowed up by a decorative advertisement. Two cupped hands framed the ad box's title, "Lady Catarina's Crossword: No-Maj Edition," which hovered above the generic-looking crossword below. In smaller text at the foot of the box, it invited the reader to visit Lady Catarina's shop at the address listed and promised a generous coupon upon crossword completion.

No-maj edition? Lex was startled by the implications. Could the newspaper tell that she wasn't magical? But, no… if that were the case, how would squibs like Jeremiah read the news? They wouldn't deny squibs knowledge of current events… right?

Reading through some of the crossword hints, her mind was immediately put at ease. Rather than targeting a no-maj audience, the crossword title referred to the theme of the day. In fact, the theme appeared to be particularly focused on no-maj religious customs. She couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the crossword having a "no-maj" theme on her birthday, especially such a spiritual theme.

Flipping through the pages, her initial ease quickly faded once more. The obnoxious crossword had actually begun to follow her gaze around, jumping from page to page, bumping text aside, enlarging, and teetering back and forth to capture her attention, as if it were possible for the annoying thing to escape notice in the first place. She couldn't believe it. Even the magical world had pop-up ads! Instinctively, she had begun shaking the paper in front of her, hoping the ad would just fall off.

Of course, the advertisement didn't budge, and Lex was forced to accept that neither gravity nor any other blunt force of physics nor her undying angst would remove that stubborn box from the pages of _The New York Ghost_. The horrific thought crossed her mind that even if she burned the paper the magical ad might persist, but she quickly stamped that thought out.

A swarm of Aurors might descend at any moment. She already felt powerless to act, as any attempts to evade the authorities would surely draw suspicion to herself and ultimately result in failure. And now, as if she didn't have enough to be frustrated about, she couldn't even read the stupid newspaper!

She hadn't brought much with her for today's adventure, forsaking her usual purse, as it was currently much too painful to carry the heavy chafing thing on her bruised shoulders. However, she had at least possessed the foresight to pocket a pen and her folded map. She moved to retrieve the pen from her pocket, but was suddenly seized by a terrifying realization.

She was a strange squib carrying a highly-suspicious map of plotted magical locations on the day of an explosion. Witches and wizards didn't impress her as particularly logical, but no one in their right mind would wave that off.

She quickly glanced around. Luckily, she'd chosen a secluded place to sit. No one could see her from this odd angle, and so far no one had even passed the alcove. There was still time to dispose of it…

Obviously, setting it on fire would have been preferable. If she'd known, she could've just tossed it at the bank or simply dropped it on the ground and then run off. However, if she were to attempt a stunt like that now, the evidence would clearly be linked to her, the lone, unsupervised stranger, who had last been seated in this area. She had neither matches nor a lighter and had recently learned that magic was an impossibility for her, even if she somehow learned the right spell. So, no, no more pyrotechnics for the day…

Her stomach grumbled indignantly, and Lex grimaced at her next solution. It was disgusting, but she had to admit that no one was likely to think of pumping her stomach for clues… ugh.

Grasping the map, the meticulously plotted and color-coded fruit of last night's labors, in her hands, she curtly began ripping the thick paper into long strips. Luckily, the map wasn't laminated, but the heavy, stock paper still wasn't going to digest easily.

Ugh. She glared at the pile of shredded paper in her lap, lips curling in disgust. She had declared that she would let nothing keep her from this magical world, that nothing would force her back to the mundane, but… how far was she willing to go?

In desperate answer to her desperate question, Lex began stuffing paper into her mouth and slurping the strips down like noodles.

Though pleasantly surprised at the way the nutritionless paper strips quieted her stomach, Lex willfully resolved to make her culinary sacrifice count. She wasn't going to let the Aurors catch her so easily. She'd explore every avenue available to her, and if they still managed to capture her, then… well, she wouldn't be able to remember any of this anyway. She supposed that she _would_ be in for a bit of a surprise, however, when her body started turning out paper strips.

Finally, Lex finished her unhealthy meal and decided to check on the status of the other denizens of The Inside Out. Newspaper in hand, she returned to the quaint courtyard and surveyed the surrounding area. Some people were milling about the nearby shops, apparently taking their stress out on their wallets, while the majority were seated at benches and tables throughout the courtyard square. The partially covered outdoor seating area she'd noticed earlier that morning wasn't even half-full.

With a deep sigh, she strode over to the seating area and selected an empty patio table in the far corner. Sitting with her back to the sturdy posts of a honeysuckle-covered trellis, Lex allowed herself to savor the sweet aroma of honeysuckles for a moment before returning to her task. Then, placing _The New York Ghost_ on the tabletop, she drew the pen from her pocket and readied it with a satisfactory click.

"Six down - first book of the Bible…" murmured Lex to herself.

She'd been raised in a religious family, though she wasn't particularly religious. She quickly scrawled "GENESIS" into the appropriate boxes and then crossed out the six down hint. Easy enough… The simple trivia helped to calm her nerves as she took in her surroundings. Any information she could glean about the wizarding world, as well as the ongoing lockdown procedures, would surely assist her in creating a more plausible story for the Aurors. Perhaps she'd get lucky and they'd overlook her completely, but it wouldn't do to sit here acting nervous in the meantime.

"Eight down - Last book of the Old Testament…" she muttered, before tapping the pen tip repeatedly against the paper.

She didn't know the answer to this one. She drew a star by the number eight and then glanced nonchalantly around, before inhaling sharply. Two tables away from hers, in the opposite corner of the seating area, a young man leaned casually back in his chair, his powerful gaze locked intently on Lex.

He wore a thick black cloak over an expensive-looking black suit and pressed a polished black dress shoe against his table, so that his chair balanced on the back two legs in a manner that was anything but professional. And yet, his contrary behavior seemed perfectly suited to his roguish good looks.

Dark windswept hair framed an olive-toned face of chiseled, aristocratic features, and a pair of sophisticated eyebrows topped his twinkling dark eyes, which slanted slightly, lending him a somewhat exotic and alluring appearance. Despite his friendly smirk or, perhaps, because of it, he exuded an aura of danger and predation, like a viper poised to strike. Lex dropped her pen, and it rolled onto the floor.

 _Crap_ , she thought, leaning down to retrieve the runaway pen.

Returning to a normal sitting position, she was startled to find the handsome and intimidating young man pulling out a chair across from her. She struggled to hide her shock as he slid gracefully into the commandeered seat.

"Anything newsworthy?" he asked slyly, his voice deep, yet silky-smooth.

Quickly reevaluating the man up-close, Lex realized that he actually seemed quite amiable and, dare she say it, charming. She couldn't believe she had immediately assumed this man was dangerous. Ugh, she wasn't usually so flighty…

She attempted to calm her nerves, as her current level of tension could only lead to more mistakes, but before she could answer, the man leaned over to glance at her newspaper and the largely unfinished crossword displayed across its pages. His eyebrows rose slightly as he settled back into his chair.

"Ah, Lady Catarina's Crossword," he said, expelling an airy sigh that was entirely too pleasant, "She sets about her work vigorously…"

Raising her arm and tapping the crossword with her pen, Lex spoke tentatively, as she was still slightly distracted by his breathy sigh, "Er, yeah, I mean, I guess. I'm usually pretty… vigorous. I've only completed a single question, though."

At least, she still retained enough self-discipline to not reflexively face-palm. She certainly wanted to right now. Or to, perhaps, bang her forehead against the table - that would work too.

"Well, start children off on the way they should go…" he replied hesitantly, furrowing his eyebrows.

 _Alright, at least I'm not the only awkward one at this table_ , Lex thought with relief.

He certainly had an unusual way of phrasing things, but she supposed the universe couldn't be too generous when handing out personal attributes. Every person was intrinsically obliged to possess at least _some_ negative qualities. Unattractiveness and lack-of-charm certainly weren't on this man's negatives list. And yet, "poor conversationalist" was fairly tame, as far as unattractive traits for attractive men went. She decided to go easy on him.

"Are you saying I'm a child?" she teased, while plastering the friendliest smile she could manage onto her face.

The man's furrowed brow deepened, and he momentarily shifted his gaze to his lap, before abruptly scooting to the edge of his seat. He plopped his arms onto the table and leaned forward on his elbows, while fixing her with a hopelessly-abashed grin.

"I apologize - this isn't going the way I planned at all. I haven't even introduced myself! I'm usually not this rude…" he said, smiling warmly, before thrusting his open hand across the table, "I'm Seth Roman. What's your name?"

"I'm Alexandra," she replied, returning a firm handshake and deciding it would be best to withhold her last name until she knew more about him, "Don't worry about it - you're not being rude at all, Seth. I think everyone's still on-edge, after today's… events."

"Of course," he responded wistfully, seemingly deep in thought.

Granting him a minute or two to contemplate whatever he had to contemplate at this moment, she pretended to continue her "vigorous" work on the crossword puzzle. Although he was quite handsome when daydreaming, she didn't want to make an awkward situation even more awkward by staring.

"Today has, indeed, been a difficult day for all of us," he began earnestly, while Lex made a valorous effort to appear as if he had interrupted her train of thought, "but, perhaps, you and I can find a silver lining in all of this? I could certainly use a drink and, perhaps, even a bite to eat. So… perhaps, you would do me the honor of accompanying me on this venture."

 _Perhaps_ , thought Lex teasingly, but, ultimately, held both her tongue and her laughter.

Lex had been in romantic relationships before, some more successful than others… but she hadn't been on a date in quite some time. Honestly, she had entirely lost interest in such things. After a while, dating seemed about as unique and rewarding as her Pumpkin Spice Lattes - there were numerous, nearly-identical locations where she could find one, with some of them proving slightly better or slightly worse, but, ultimately, as unremarkable and unnecessary as the next.

Seth was definitely attractive, but he could never give her anything even remotely close to the joy, hope, and emotional satisfaction that magic brought her. Perhaps he might be a good source of magical knowledge and information in the future, but at the moment, it was far more likely that he'd discover her secret or otherwise gift her with a one-way ticket to ultimate Obliviation. No, she would have to refuse him. Even now, he was wasting valuable time that she should be putting towards escaping The Inside Out with her memories intact.

"Thank you for the offer, Seth. I'm flattered, but I think I'd rather stay here and wait out the lockdown. Perhaps… some other time?" she replied gently, trying not to linger too long on the word "perhaps."

Instead of looking downcast, Seth seemed to pep-up slightly, leaning even further onto the table. His eyes shone brightly in the noonday sun, and Lex could see that his eyes, which had appeared so dark before, were actually a vibrant hazel, the irises tinted a beautiful gradient of blue-and-green to golden amber. Somehow, even with the sun beaming warm rays of sunshine down onto the reflective table, Seth managed to appear positively radiant through the glare.

"Alright. Let's just stay here then," he said, glancing down at her crossword once more, "Perhaps I can assist you with your crossword puzzle. What do you say?"

Lex shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Nothing was going according to plan today. She didn't want to be rude, but this was really not the best time for romantic overtures, and her emotions were riding on, shall we say, a short fuse. She decided to be blunt, as the direct route of communication was best for getting a point across, and, in her experience, it usually scared men off effectively anyway.

"Look, Seth, you're an attractive guy, and you seem like a nice one too. Under different circumstances, I might be interested, but I'm not interested right now. I'm sorry."

She flashed him a pained apologetic smile, but it was apparently unnecessary because the man still wasn't getting it. He didn't appear fazed in the slightest. In fact, if anything, he appeared emboldened. Reaching across the table, Seth placed the tips of his fingers on her newspaper, curtly slid it back with him to his side of the table and spun it around. Leaning over the newspaper, he proceeded to read aloud, as if she'd said nothing of significance.

"Hm… Twelve across - Love Story of the Bible… Ah, that's an easy one…" he mused aloud, before extending a hand across the table, palm up, "Pen?"

 _Oh great,_ thought Lex frustratedly, _He's one of_ those _guys. What perfect timing for me to encounter a guy who just loves himself a challenge…_

"Seth, I think you misunderstand me. I'm not playing coy or hard-to-get or anything like that, okay? I just want to sit here and do my crossword in peace and _solitude_."

Seth chuckled, slapping his hand down onto the table, as if Lex had just told a joke. He lifted his head up, a look of stubborn, yet manly, determination on his face. Lex thought she detected just a flicker of the savage aura she'd felt earlier, but it quickly disappeared behind his confident charming gaze. He smirked boyishly as he spoke.

"Oh no, I understand… Alexandra," he paused, openly savoring her name, "but I think you'll find I don't relent quite as easily as most wizards. As you've said, circumstances aren't exactly ideal right now, but if we wait around, playing it safe our entire lives, ideal circumstances may never come. Why not take a chance, take a risk, for once? It's obvious that today's ordeal has taken its toll, and you shouldn't have to deal with all of that stress on your own… I promise, I'm decent company, once you get to know me."

 _Buddy, I've been taking risks all day!_ Lex thought angrily, _I've taken enough risks, today. Hell, you're a walking talking risk!_

"You know, I'm not feeling like much of a daredevil today, thanks," hissed Lex, meeting his hazel eyes with a full-strength glare, "I'm sure you're decent company, but I'm currently aiming for _no company_. That would be a lot easier to accomplish if you'd just leave."

Seth simply sighed exasperatedly and swished his impeccably-straight wand. A pen materialized in his left hand, and he began filling in crossword boxes, while reading his penmanship aloud.

"Song… of… songs…"

"Wow. Just wow. Okay, I take it back, Seth. Now you _are_ being rude. What part of 'no means no' don't you understand?" Lex growled.

"Well, for one, you never expressly said 'no, stop trying, Seth' - " he began in his obnoxiously seductive voice.

"I don't think it can get much more _expressive_ than 'please, leave.' I will say it again - please, leave," Lex spat, her blood brought to a boil.

"Hm…" Seth said, pretending to consider her request, before finishing with a smirk, "no, I think I'd like to remain seated."

"Geez, are you a _child_? Maybe I should take your advice, and 'start children off on the way they should go!'"

Seth looked up abruptly from _The New York Ghost_ , his face frozen in a wide grin, "And even when they are old, they will not turn from it."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're stubborn… you're a philosopher… congratulations! Now, it's time you start off on the way you should go - " she pointed vigorously towards the street behind him and shouted, "THAT WAY!"

Seth looked over his left shoulder at the street beyond, before turning back to her with a quizzical expression.

"That way? Why not…" he looked over his right shoulder and pointed, "...that way… or… that one?" he asked in mock bewilderment as he pointed next at one of the streets behind Lex.

She threw up her hands in exasperation, before groaning, "Really? You're kidding me, right?"

Seth propped his head in his hands and chuckled in utter amusement, "Why don't _you_ leave, Alexandra? I'm not keeping you here. I haven't cast a Sticking Charm on your seat."

Lex was slightly taken-aback to learn that there was actually a charm for sticking someone to a chair, but she was _greatly_ taken-aback by Seth's question. She wasn't usually territorial, but the thought of leaving hadn't crossed her mind. She had been confident that better communication was all that was needed. However, if he refused to leave, she supposed she might as well just return to her secluded alcove.

Still, why wouldn't _he_ leave? Was he so encouraged by her remaining seated that he felt he could ignore her words? Seth's rationale aside, Lex felt it was best to evaluate the costs and the benefits of this situation. If the Aurors came for her, could he be useful somehow? Perhaps he might be able to answer some of her less-suspicious questions or even just finish the crossword puzzle with her, so that she could finally read the damn paper.

"I see you're still here," he drawled smugly.

"That's it!" Lex huffed, jolting up from her seat, the chair legs screeching shrilly across the stone tiles.

No amount of potential information was worth this hassle. At this rate, the Aurors would soon be arresting her anyway - for violence in the streets! She stomped over to his side of the table and reached for her newspaper, but he immediately moved it out of her reach.

"Give. Me. My. Newspaper." Lex muttered in warning.

Seth flicked his wand at the newspaper and then waved his right hand around frantically, staring at the paper in mock confusion.

"Oh my! Alexandra, darling! Would you look at that?" Seth asked, gasping exaggeratedly, "It looks like there _is_ a Sticking Charm, but it is not on your chair - it's on the newspaper!"

Lex was fed up with his theatrics and was in the process of devising a particularly-biting remark to tell him so, when a small group of approximately fifteen black-clad men and women walked into the courtyard. A blonde middle-aged witch at the head of the group inspected the courtyard, before gesturing in several different directions. The group promptly dispersed in an orderly fashion, and Lex's stomach plummeted like a stone. Aurors - they had to be.

 _Time's up_ , a voice of her subconscious whispered unhelpfully.

She couldn't just take off to her alcove now. Even though no announcements had been made and no orders issued since the sirens, it was clear that the roving Aurors intended to speak with every occupant of the courtyard square. Lex plopped defeatedly into the seat next to Seth.

 _It'll all be over soon_ , her subconscious murmured, and she gave it a prompt mental slap.

"Fine," Lex droned dejectedly, "Let's finish the stupid crossword. The Aurors will come around soon enough, and then we can all go home."

Seth raised an eyebrow inquisitively and replied, "As pleased as I am that you've decided to stay, I can't help but feel that it's less on account of my considerable charm and more on account of the beloved Auror's office. You're not a fan, I assume?"

 _Considerable charm, huh? I suppose now we can add "arrogant" right below "poor conversationalist" on his negative characteristics list…_ she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the man.

"Not particularly. Why should I be? After everything I've been through… after this crazy, terrible day…" she lamented, her voice suddenly wavering and her eyes welling up with tears as she felt the weight of her fears come crashing down at last, "After all of this, I just want to go home. The day is only halfway through, and already I feel as if I haven't slept in days. I could have died today, but I didn't. And now, I just want to go home. Instead, they have us locked up in here, just sitting around, thinking and fearing. We've received no word about what happened or whether or not we're even _safe_ right now. So… no, excuse me, but I don't really feel like cheering for the Auror's office at the moment, thanks."

Seth leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully across the table. His expression softened, his hazel eyes warm, gentle, and mercifully free of pity. A tender smile spread across his face, and Lex's heart ached in her chest at the sight. She found herself badly in need of comfort, though she'd never admit it to a total stranger like Seth.

"You'll get to go home soon," he said quietly, "In the meantime, we can pass the time however you please, Alexandra."

He swished his wand in front of the newspaper, which freed itself from his priorly-sticky hand and floated downwards onto the table. Seth then spun _The New York Ghost_ around to face Lex, just as the stern-looking female Auror she'd noticed earlier approached their table. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled so tightly back from the skin of her forehead that it appeared to painfully suspend her eyebrows. Beneath her thin eyebrows, two piercing baby-blue eyes were frozen in a constant state of alert apprehension. Seth turned his head casually to the side and appraised her. Then, the woman cleared her throat, before speaking in a gruff gravelly voice.

"Auror Roman," she said, inclining her head politely in Seth's direction.

"Auror Wilkinson," Seth replied.


	4. Of Ire & Ironbellies

||_ _Author's Foreword_ _||

 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS: language, violence_**

 _(1) Perhaps I should've called this chapter "Of Talking & Talking," because it was a monster… and, yes, there's a ton of dialogue. O_O_

 _(2) Here's a friendly nod to JayBat for the Luna Lovegood suggestion._

 _(3) I'm carefully practicing the "imperfect narrator," so you can't always believe what you read…_

* * *

~ Four ~ **  
Of Ire & Ironbellies**

* * *

Alexandra Austin had been hit by a car, thrown into a world of magic, slapped in the face by a contemptuously-swung door, and just that morning witnessed a ghastly explosion. Thus, it was quite the testament to the depths of her shock and disbelief when the revelation that she'd been toying with _Auror_ Roman all along hit her like a barreling freight train.

 _Hey, we're in slow-mo_ , her subconscious exclaimed as her stomach plunged, time slowed, and Lex's mind broadcast the "Emergency Lockdown" voice from earlier, now calmly repeating on loop nothing but _Oh shit_.

An unremarkable black inkpen hurtled into the air, revolving at a frame rate so slow it would have infuriated even the most casual video gamer. At the moment, however, it might as well have been the most fascinating pen in all of existence, for Lex was more than willing to accept some choppy lag in her visual stream. It was better to watch that pen than to watch the ensuing conversation between two Aurors and accidently reveal her growing dread. Yes, the fascinating shiny pen caught the sunlight as it spun in the air, and Lex fixated on its spinning form like her life depended on it. She watched the pen battle and lose against gravity repeatedly as Seth or, more fittingly, Auror Roman continuously tossed it between the air and his palm.

"I wasn't aware you were on duty today, Roman," the blonde Auror Wilkinson stated plainly in her gravelly voice.

Seth glanced briefly at Wilkinson, before returning his fierce gaze to Lex. He seemed quite amused by Lex's sudden interest in his inkpen, though Wilkinson looked anything but amused at the moment. While doing her research, Lex had seen a few references to a magical creature known as a Dementor, which sucked the joy and happiness out of everything around it. Sitting so close to Wilkinson, Lex couldn't help but wonder if that creature was purely metaphorical…

Seth replied smoothly-as-ever to the stern Auror, "I'm always on duty, Wilkinson."

Of course, Dementor Wilkinson was not amused. If any Auror was "always on duty," it would surely be her. In fact, Lex couldn't imagine Wilkinson ever looking "off duty." Maybe off-duty Wilkinson would simply slouch more or, perhaps, loosen her tie? Currently, Wilkinson stood rigid as a board and stared impassively at the top of Seth's head. She crossed her arms and slowly tapped a heavy black boot against the pavement, while patiently awaiting a serious response from her colleague.

Seth sighed, before answering casually, "Potter gave me time off earlier this week, so I took over Graves' shifts for the weekend. Merlin knows, that man could use a vacation… Anyways, I was just about to have a chat with Alexandra, here," he said, casting Lex a meaningful gaze, "about her morning."

Lex watched from the periphery of her vision as Auror Wilkinson merely grunted, gave a curt nod, and turned her attention to Lex. Lex felt her heart skip a beat and nearly bust free of its ribcage. Her hands were gripping the edge of the patio table tightly, pinning the flimsy paper of _The New York Ghost_ to the tabletop. Though it required an insane amount of effort, Lex managed to loosen her grip and relax her posture.

 _Seriously_ , she thought, _I need to stop acting like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar…_

Wilkinson's steely glare appraised Lex, eyes darting from the newspaper to her clothes to her downturned face, before turning back to Seth with distaste and, perhaps, a bit of suspicion.

Of course, Lex imagined that suspicion and distrust were near-constant states for this rather severe-looking Auror, so she tried not to take it too personally. Lex wasn't sure what the woman assumed was happening here, but she was more than happy to stay out of the limelight.

"I'd ask why you didn't check in per procedure, Roman, but we both know it'd be wasted breath," spoke Wilkinson in a hush, "Run _your_ team however you like, but next time you take a holiday and land yourself in _mine_ , you're going to follow _my_ rules. This is _my_ team, and we do things by-the-book here. Understand?"

"Of course, Wilkinson," Seth replied, finally ceasing to toss the pen and placing it gingerly on the table, "I apologize. I had no intention of stepping on your toes."

Apparently, Wilkinson decided the situation was adequately resolved with this brief exchange. She clasped her hands behind her back, straightened her already incredibly-rigid posture, and raised her chin, so that she might better stare down authoritatively at Seth and Lex. Facing the center of the table, she addressed Seth but ensured that Lex was likewise informed.

"We're questioning everyone present. Full eyewitness accounts. Permit checks. Lucky for you," she said, glancing around the courtyard, "it appears we are competently staffed, and the rest of the square is covered. Do you have everything handled here?" she asked pointedly, inclining her head in Lex's direction.

"Yes. Everything is under control," Seth replied with a firm nod.

"Alright," she said, turning to Lex to add politely, "Thank you for your patience and your cooperation, Miss…"

"Austin," Lex answered hastily.

 _Doh_ , she thought immediately.

Lex could already feel the phantom sensation of a slap. Her palm desperately wanted to slap itself against her forehead.

Across the table, Seth raised an inquisitive eyebrow, while Lex mentally chided herself once more. Now the Aurors knew her first _and_ last name. Any chance of assuming a fake family name or otherwise hiding her identity from them had just disappeared. Well, unless she could get _really_ creative with a cover story…

"Miss Austin," Wilkinson repeated with an air of finality.

The woman turned stiffly and began a brisk walk away from this corner of the courtyard. Seth smiled knowingly at Lex, rolling his eyes at Wilkinson's retreating form. Lex couldn't help but marvel at how he somehow managed to appear incredibly suave, while acting so incredibly childish.

Approximately three paces from the table, Wilkinson paused briefly to call over her shoulder, "Oh, and when you're done, Roman, consider that your end-of-day. You can pick up the team's paperwork later."

"Thank you, Wilkinson," Seth playfully groaned as she resumed her exit once more.

And just like that, Lex was once again alone with this odd Auror, Seth Roman. His scalding gaze still hadn't faltered from hers, and something inside of Lex shivered in warning.

"I should apologize for the blatant unprofessionalism exhibited today, Alexandra," Seth began apologetically, the tone not quite translating to his facial expression, "Personally, I find that interrogations go much more smoothly, when the subject doesn't _know_ they are being interrogated. So much more is revealed by a person's true nature, you see."

Lex would've protested his deception, citing her rights as a citizen, but she had no idea what those rights even were. She had no idea if a MACUSA version of the Miranda Rights, or any other equivalent police code, even existed. Not to mention, it'd be a bad idea to draw attention to her non-existent MACUSA citizenship…

Still, her wounded pride begged to protest his toying with her emotions. He should have told her his true intentions immediately rather than lead her on… but wasn't that kind of the point of catching her off guard? Yes, Lex couldn't really fault the law enforcement officer for doing his job - even if he _was_ childish and highly unorthodox. She took comfort in the knowledge that at least he hadn't heard anything _too_ suspicious. Ultimately, she settled on voicing the only objection she felt she could safely make - playing the "you're-an-unprofessional-tease-you-shameless-flirt" card.

"So, all of that harassment was just to get a statement from me? Unprofessionalism doesn't even _begin_ to - "

"You're welcome to file a complaint with our Public Relations Quality Assurance subdivision, PRQA, if you feel that you've been mistreated," he interrupted brusquely, ignoring Lex's subsequent scoff, "It _does_ get a bit backlogged at times, however, so I'd advise you to Floo to MACUSA HQ as soon as the lockdown is lifted - that is, if you wish to get home before dark. All of that waiting, and paperwork can be quite… tedious."

Lex glared at the obnoxious Auror. Even if she hadn't been a non-magical imposter in his magical land, the choice he so-eloquently offered wasn't much of a choice at all. Judging by the elevation of the sun, it was already well past noon, and he definitely _knew_ how badly she wanted to get home. Even under normal circumstances, enduring the mindless agonies of bureaucracy was unbearable enough, but to endure it after the emotional trauma she'd been through… no. No way in Hell, Heaven, or any other partisan religious Afterlife!

"Gee, thanks for the advice, Auror Roman," Lex snapped sarcastically, struggling to keep her growing irritation at bay, "It's _so_ encouraging to know that MACUSA has a backlog of this sort of thing. You must be _such_ a proud contributor."

Good grief, why was it so difficult to remain civil when talking to this man? She swore that he actually _enjoyed_ arguing with her. He certainly made no effort to hide his amusement as he chuckled openly at her frustration. The Voice of Reason in her head insisted she stop provoking him, but Seth's self-satisfied smirk irked her to the nth degree.

"Do you always nag suspects for dates, Seth?" she challenged, pressing him for a response other than laughter.

"Who said you were a suspect?" Seth shot back immediately, inclining a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow.

"What? No! You know that's not what I meant," she gasped, her mind once again broadcasting that emergency _Oh shit_ siren on repeat, "I'm not an Auror - you can't expect me to know your terminology. What - what would you call me?"

"I should think witness or _innocent_ bystander might have been more appropriate," Seth answered smoothly, the corners of his lips twitching to hide a small smile.

 _Of course, he's right as usual! I keep slipping up… I need rest… These are not prime working conditions for subterfuge…_ she mentally lamented, before deciding to employ her trusty fallback plan, _When in doubt, Lex, play dumb._

"Well, great! There you go," Lex sighed and gave a small self-deprecating laugh, "Clearly, my vocabulary is not up to par with yours. So, it should be no small wonder that I can't finish a basic crossword puzzle."

"Well, there _is_ more to a crossword puzzle than vocabulary," he replied with his customary smirk.

Really, it was quickly becoming more productive to note when Seth _wasn't_ smirking. It was such a near-constant that Lex idly wondered whether or not his face possessed a limited range of emotional expression. Of course, a darker vindictive side of Lex simultaneously seethed, wondering what cruel miracle it would take to wipe that smug expression from his face.

"True, Seth, but you still haven't answered my question. Do you always nag _bystanders_ for dates?" she prodded, refusing to let this wrong go unpunished.

"Only when they're attractive."

Lex was speechless. Seth's grin grew impossibly more smug.

Okay, now he _really_ wasn't playing fair! Lex usually appreciated candid conversation, but currently she was not adequately prepared to carry on with both an interrogation and a game of courtship and flirtation. Her frustration had officially reached its boiling point. In fact, it had reached its point of melting, boiling, vaporization, sublimation, and… yes, effectively the conditions of every existent phase state were now met. Never mind the principles of physics - physics be damned!

"Okay. That is _it_. Enough of these mind games! What's it going to take for you to leave me alone, huh?" she snapped, waving her arms shamelessly in the air, "What _act of God_ is necessary for this day to fucking end, so I can finally go home and relax in peace? Name your price!"

Seth's fine facial features adopted an expression of intense curiosity after Lex's casual mention of God. Or, perhaps, it was merely the awkward juxtaposition of referencing a god and invoking a vulgar term for sinful pleasure within the same sentence…

Did wizards and witches practice religion? She couldn't remember any religious references within the texts she'd read... Well, none other than a few smitten analyses written by magical philosophers on "curious no-maj religious customs."

"Well, I can't speak for no-maj deities, Alexandra - then again, I suppose no one can… " he trailed off thoughtfully, entirely unfazed by her emotional outburst, "I tell you what, Alexandra, my offer still stands. We can stay here, and do this 'by-the-book,' as Wilkinson is so fond of doing, or you can answer a few generic questions for me over a pint, and we can raise our glasses to the end of a shitty day. Paperwork or pints? Your choice."

Lex was developing a sneaking suspicion that Seth Roman was not the type of man to truly offer choices or leave anything up to chance. Auror Wilkinson was gruff and strict, but at least a person knew where they stood with her. Perhaps there was a comforting transparency to doing things "by the book."

Auror Roman could claim something was "off the record," but his true intentions were about as clear as his duty schedule… _Was_ _he_ always on duty? In spite of his cavalier and somewhat childish attitude, Wilkinson had spoken to him with a deference that suggested they held similar rank. Surely there was adequate reason for such a rank, reason enough for Seth to be put in charge of an entire team. The fact that she couldn't identify this reason made it all the more concerning.

Ugh, yes, the more Lex considered his possible motives and personality quirks, the more slippery her entire analysis of his behavior seemed. Who was this guy, this enigma? With his character so uncertain, Seth Roman spelled danger. Limited exposure spelled safety.

"So, if I go on this date with you, you'll leave me alone?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, but I get one hour."

 _Good enough_ , she thought while imagining a grim digital timer labeled "Seconds Until Salvation," _Can we get one hour on the clock, please? Thanks…_

"Okay, deal. One drink, one hour," she agreed, employing her own pale imitation of Seth's considerable confidence.

Her reward for closing the deal was another beaming smile that crinkled Seth's eyes attractively at the edges. He leaned lazily back in his chair, eyes roaming the courtyard, eventually landing on Lex's alcove by the exit.

"Have you eaten anything today, Alexandra?" he inquired thoughtfully.

 _Yeah, about an hour ago I ate an entire wad of shredded paper, which I ripped from a suspicious map that, if found, would have made me an instant suspect,_ Lex thought.

"No, nothing yet," Lex said.

Meanwhile, she was quite suddenly aware of a loud rushing as temporarily-magical blood streamed through her veins. Each thunderous pulse of her heart echoed from her earlobes to her fingertips. Oh, no, oh, no… had he seen her gorging herself on that shredded map? She had plenty to worry about, of course, but the first shameful thought to pop into mind was _How embarrassing_.

But, no, she'd checked for spectators! She had even performed a cursory check for hidden security cameras, though the wizarding world didn't seem to have much by way of surveillance technology.

While it was quite possible that something magical had escaped her notice, she felt she'd done the best she could given the circumstances. All verifiable evidence pointed to her culinary secret remaining safe… Logically, if he'd seen her eat the map, why hadn't he told Wilkinson or the other Aurors? Better yet, why hadn't Wilkinson seen it herself? Unless… oh no, was that why Wilkinson looked at her in distaste?

Lex's unsettling train of thought quickly devolved into a frantic paranoid hysteria that was eerily-reminiscent of numerous awkward moments throughout her high school years. Thus, she almost jumped straight out of her chair when Seth resumed their conversation.

"Okay then, perhaps, lunch as well?" he asked pleasantly, tilting his head to the side.

Lex nodded vigorously. She didn't trust herself to speak aloud while her stomach was performing nauseating somersaults like some aspiring gymnast. Ugh, she was about ready to vomit from the day's stress. Regurgitating the map might save her the humiliation of some stomach-pumping spell, but Seth would surely have horrifying commentary prepared for that particular scenario…

"Do you have any… strange dietary restrictions or habits I should know about?" Seth continued, apparently oblivious to her inner turmoil.

 _Yeah, uh, I'm a stationerian, meaning I only eat processed foods from trees that have been killed or, more specifically, paper. I've developed a slight allergy to cardboard, but I'm quite partial to tissue…_ she thought hysterically, the silent joke doomed to pass in and out of existence entirely unappreciated.

"No… Why would you ask that?" Lex asked slowly, before hiding her discomfort behind some obvious humor, "What, Seth, are you going to surprise me and reveal that you're not just an Auror, but now you moonlight as a chef on occasion too?"

"Of course not! I would never _dream_ of surprising you so… clumsily," he chuckled, a dark gleam in his hazel eyes, "Still, it is valuable information should I ever need to order a meal for you in the future, or… cook for you at my place."

 _Holy cow-hide-beanbags, ya'll!_ Lex thought in disbelief, _Can you believe this guy? The sheer audacity! In what crazy, fictional universe does he think I'd actually go for this…_

His arms lay crossed over his chest, accentuating toned arm muscles, and his chair rocked back and forth as one long leg flexed against the crook of the table stand. Although she would have loved to watch him fall to the floor, the table didn't budge in the slightest and the chair wouldn't wobble even with the back at a 45 degree angle to the floor. Lex suspected spellwork.

"Wow. Don't push your luck, man," she laughed, efficiently addressing both his ungentlemanlike assumptions _and_ his hazardous seating position in the same breath.

All four chair legs swiftly returned to their proper position on the ground. Seth stood and pushed his chair beneath the table, all in one graceful sweeping motion. Nothing seemed to phase him.

"Well, it was worth a try! I'm sure I'll figure you out eventually, Alexandra," he said, patiently waiting for Lex to stand, so that he might push in her chair, "As I said before, I think you'll find I don't relent _quite_ so easily."

* * *

It was 3:30 PM on October 23rd, when Wyomi Wolfe furiously scrubbed at a spotless wooden countertop for the fourth time that afternoon. Last time, she lasted a full six minutes of waiting for more news on the lockdown before promptly returning to rub the wrinkly skin of her hands raw and red. See, more than anything, Wyomi Wolfe did not want to think. She did not want to think, for surely if she did, Wyomi Wolfe would never stop crying.

 _Of all the days for an attack…_ she thought meekly, _Why did it have to be today? Why_ his _day? Oh, Chayton…_

She quickly swatted the flittering thought from her mind and dropped the sopping-wet dishrag, as one of her regulars, Trocar, was beckoning for a refill. Most bartenders would cast a quick _Scourgify_ rather than engage in menial labor. Wyomi, however, found that a few simple tasks accomplished in a no-maj fashion helped to soothe her much-too-delicate nerves.

"Quit torturing yourself, Wyomi, dear," Trocar drawled in that posh, British accent of his, "Let the Aurors earn their keep, whilst you plop your arse down in that fancy chair over there and read that _lunatic rag_ of yours."

Wyomi shot him a meaningful glare as she poured his second Bloody Mary, O-positive flavor, from a self-refilling copper pitcher. The pasty vampire folded his copy of _The New York Ghost_ across his lap and stared back at her with dark heavy-lidded eyes.

"Don't get cheeky! You forget - I can hear your heartbeat racing like a bloody gazelle from halfway across the bar," he scoffed while sipping delicately on his blood-flavored cocktail, "Trust Trocar, dear - at this point, the best thing you can do is look after your own health and _relax_."

Wyomi sighed softly, returning the pitcher of Bloody Mary to its place behind the bar. Every year she spent this day working, but she had to admit that Trocar had a point. Her annual ritual needed to be honored.

So, pulling out her tall cushioned chair from beneath the bar, Wyomi retrieved the day's edition of _The Quibbler_ from her pantsuit pocket. And, without further ado, she began reading as best she could through her tearfilled eyes.

At 3:33 PM, Wyomi's seat cushion buzzed insistently, while her chair wobbled eagerly back and forth on its knobbly legs. Wyomi's fancy chair always reliably indicated when new customers entered The Bloody Banshee. It had even caught a few Disillusioned youths a couple of times as they tried to sneak past the underage wards and snatch some alcohol from behind the bar.

Quickly rising from her seat, Wyomi greeted a handsome young Auror and his equally-handsome female companion. The young couple selected two seats in the middle of the bar, and the young man rapped twice on his wooden stool, summoning a chair back from the seat, the wood sculpting itself to perfectly fit his spine. Curiously, the young woman appeared surprised by his maneuver.

 _You'd think she'd never been to a bar before… Hmm… I really should get someone to check on those underage wards again_ , Wyomi mused, approaching the young couple for their drink order.

She desperately wanted to ask the Auror for a status update on this ongoing Scourer situation. Wyomi just _knew_ it was the Scourers - it was always the Scourers. However, the pair appeared to be involved in a rather intense conversation of a more official sort. The man jotted down notes on a roll of parchment, while the woman spoke softly and hesitantly, fidgeting in her seat.

Wyomi decided to wait for a better opening to interrupt. She knew better than to interfere with Auror business - especially on a day like this.

As she poured the man his glass of butterbeer and the woman her glass of pumpkin juice, however, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that there was something incredibly familiar about the young lady. Wyomi was certain she had never seen the man in The Bloody Banshee before, however, because she would have remembered an Auror with an attractive face like his…

Wyomi listened carefully as the young woman spoke. She wasn't as spry in her middle-age, but she still had a sensitive ear.

"...estimating distances, but I was pretty much right in front of the bank," the woman explained calmly.

It wasn't as raspy as before, but there was something about her voice, an aching quality that lingered painfully beneath. Perhaps it was simply the blunt delivery of each word, the intonation that seemed to bear her very soul with each sentence. Whatever the intangible reason, recognition gusted through Wyomi, like the crackling winds of a summer storm.

"Lex? Oh, my word, is that really you?" Wyomi asked abruptly.

The witch and wizard's attentions snapped quickly to Wyomi, and a beautiful smile spread instantly across Lex's much-improved face. Truly, the girl's recovery was nothing short of extraordinary…

"Hi, Wyomi! Yes, it's really me. I would have said something earlier, but I didn't think you'd recognize me," she answered, her eyes bright.

Many people would have been confused by the myriad emotions dancing behind Lex's eyes in that moment. Wyomi, however, had spent her entire childhood gazing into eyes like those, eyes thirsting for relief and longing for comfort. Wyomi and Chayton had both housed their own set of thirsty eyes within a resilient young skull. She now knew that look anywhere. What a day to encounter Lex again… Eyes like those on this very special date could be nothing short of fate.

Suspecting some curious celestial forces were responsible, Wyomi vowed to consult her Fortune Sticks on the matter that very night. She had never been particularly studious, a relative novice in most branches of magic. However, Wyomi had always been quite taken with Divination, specifically astrology and xylomancy.

As a rebellious teen, she had excelled at finding trouble in the woods and amongst individuals that society had deemed "unsavory." Twigs and starry skies were always easily accessible when romping through the forest, and thus, she'd picked up a thing or two from her "beastly" friends concerning the fortune-telling disciplines.

"Of course, I recognized you, sweetie," Wyomi purred, "I'm so happy to see you made it to a healer at last, but," she paused, frowning slightly as she remembered the day's events, "I'm so sorry you have to go through this all over again. It hardly seems fair."

Lex was initially puzzled, but understanding soon dawned upon her as she whispered a soft _Oh_.

The male Auror merely looked intrigued. His eyes narrowed slightly and his lips drew into a lopsided smirk as he, no doubt, read some hidden meaning from the conversation, one that neither Wyomi nor Lex could see.

"Thank you, Wyomi," she said, warm sincerity shining through her voice, "Frankly, I'm sorry that _anyone_ has to go through this…"

As Lex trailed off, the young Auror turned and teased in a mock whisper, "Lex, huh? Say, when do you and I get to be on a nickname basis?"

"Hmm… Let me see… what time is it?" Lex asked dryly.

Chuckling, the man reached into the pocket of his cloak and retrieved a rather ancient-looking pocket watch.

"It is 15:45, or 3:45PM, if you prefer."

"Then, from 15:45 to 16:45, Sethykins," she retorted casually, lifting her tankard and taking a long sip of its juice.

The Auror released several deep bellows of laughter, while Lex released only a single exasperated sigh. Palpable tension hung in the air, threatening to ignite with each glance and verbal exchange the young couple shared. Wyomi wasn't certain, however, if that lingering tension would ignite into romantic sparks or into angry flame…

While the man's flirtations were so obvious they practically demanded an obligatory eyeroll, Lex's voice was strained and the fierce glint in the man's eyes hinted at a subtle power-play of a more insidious nature.

Despite her numerous frailties and insecurities, Wyomi proudly considered herself to be a protective mother Wolfe. Should the need ever arise, she resolved to defend this young wolf pup, this battered and bruised Scourer victim, who had twice sought refuge in her bar.

"Wyomi, how are you holding up?" Lex asked suddenly, probably eager to change the subject, "You seem a bit… off."

Wyomi attempted to smile, but instead she felt her face droop into a deep frown. She was sure that the exaggerated wrinkles of her face painted quite the unflattering picture at the moment. Sadly, the wild days of her youth had run her rough and ragged. It was at an early age that she had first become acquainted with alcohol, as well as some less-than-MACUSA-approved potions sold to her by some less-than-MACUSA-approved "friends." Yes, her self-inflicted struggles with potions addictions had done little to help her weathered body, or her fragile nerves.

Now, nearly two decades after she had kicked her smorgasboard of addictions clear, she was still fighting to recover from the agonies of her childhood. Without warning, warm, stinging tears collected about her bottom eyelids, spilling over and tracing long, wet lines through the wrinkly crevices of her face. It was impossible to mask her sorrow, such an impossible feat to accomplish, while staring into those warm, amber eyes that looked oh-so-brilliantly like Chayton's.

"I've been better, Lex," she sobbed, her voice a thin warble, "Today is… today is a rough day for me… Thank you for asking."

"Has someone taken your statement already? Do you have anything to report?" the Auror interjected, his voice suddenly heavy with the firm, unyielding weight of authority.

Wyomi was quite taken aback by the man's callous questioning, but she supposed tears, blood, and death were regular occurrences in his profession, thanks to the Scourers. Lex was not quite so forgiving, however… She scoffed, and snapped a sharp _Excuse me!_ that the Auror promptly ignored.

Not wishing to disturb her customers further, especially Lex, Wyomi attempted to reign in her tears. She sniffed a few times, grabbed a napkin from behind the bar, and dabbed at her leaking eyes.

"Yes, yes, Aurors swept through here earlier… Everyone at The Bloody Banshee has been accounted for, and," Wyomi answered in her best, official "bar matron" voice, "as I told your colleagues, I've been working here, behind the bar, all day. I didn't witness the bombing, myself, but I've been keeping an eye out for any suspicious customers. They took statements from them too."

The Auror, however, was not yet satisfied, and continued pressing her with questions, "Why do you think it was a bomb? Did the Aurors tell you that?"

Wyomi was beginning to understand Lex's irritation with this man. He was obviously very dedicated to his job, and charming enough, when he put in the effort, but he was certainly not someone she wanted poking and prodding his way into her business. She had already begun to feel a twinge of irrational guilt building in her chest, as if he were about to explain to her why she was, in fact, the true culprit.

"No, I was actually hoping that _you'd_ be able to give _us_ some information," Wyomi stated, indignant, "But, honestly, I think everyone already _knows_ what happened, and who's responsible. The Scourers exploded one of those non-magical bombs! It's just common sense!"

"You're quick to jump to conclusions, Miss… Wyomi, was it?" the man inquired, waiting for Wyomi's nod of affirmation, before continuing in an icy tone, "Wyomi, where did you hear it was a Scourer attack?"

"It's _always_ a Scourer attack!" Wyomi snapped bitterly.

She could hardly believe that the Auror was wasting everyone's time with such idiotic questions. The American wizarding world had been under attack for centuries now! A new group of Scourers always appeared in one form or another, wreaking havoc and destruction upon unsuspecting magicals. Merlin's beard - the entire city of New York had once needed a citywide Obliviation, thanks to those twits! And atrocities like Obscurials, poor repressed witches and wizards that they were, wouldn't even exist in today's world, if it weren't for the magic-hating _drivel_ that Scourers like the Second Salemers spouted.

"But, why?" asked Lex in a hushed voice, "Why are they doing this? Why attack a bank?"

The Auror glowered at Lex, an irritated expression disrupting his usual smug smirk. He then sighed, and shook his head, as if the entire premise was ridiculous. Wyomi, however, understood the girl's emotional disquiet.

Oftentimes, at Wyomi's childhood orphanage, she and her siblings-by-circumstance would discuss, and attempt to make sense of, many of the uglier aspects of human nature. Why did parents abandon their children? How could predators bring themselves to prey on the innocent? How could life be so cruel? None of the orphans ever found satisfactory answers, and the need to comprehend the rationale behind the evil events that plagued them, the purpose behind their pain, always remained. No, Wyomi would not dismiss Lex's questions so heartlessly. She deserved to know the truth.

"To create panic, to incite terror! Scourers are insane, bloodthirsty _savages_ ," spat Wyomi, slamming her hands down onto the wooden countertop, and sending the two resting mugs into a wobbling fit, "so don't you dare think on it, Lex. Don't think for a second that there's any rhyme or reason to their carnage! Trying to make sense of those brutes, trying to understand their twisted minds, will only drive you _mad_."

All amusement had now vanished from the Auror's face, his mouth drawn into a thin, grim line, and his eyes sparkling dangerously. Lex shot him a wary, sidelong glance, before returning her gaze to Wyomi's face. Lex's eyes had grown wide with a mixture of confusion and shock. _She_ appeared to be at a loss for words, but the Auror was having no such difficulty.

"The only one inciting panic right now is you, madame," Seth growled, turning towards Lex, and dismissively away from Wyomi, before instructing Lex calmly and succinctly, "Lex, I assure you, the Aurors Office is more than capable of handling this threat. Please, do not allow yourself to be drawn-in by the hype. No official statements have been made, no information yet released, so any rumors you hear at this time are pure conjecture."

"Conjecture!" Wyomi howled, hopelessly incensed by the young man's disparaging behavior, "What other roving band of sociopaths is out there blowing up magicals with non-magical bombs?"

"Miss Wyomi," he began in a patronizing tone, "again, no information about the attack has yet been released, so why, in Merlin's name, would you assume it was a non-magical bomb?"

Wyomi growled in frustration, "I don't think I much like your attitude, _young man_! And the other Aurors were all so polite, too! What's your name, eh? I'd like to file a complaint!"

"I am Auror Seth Roman. You're welcome to file a complaint with our Public Relations Quality Assurance subdivision, PRQA, if you feel that you've been mistreated," he answered smoothly, without the slightest hint of unease, "It _does_ get a bit backlogged at times, however, so I'd advise you to Floo to MACUSA HQ as soon as the lockdown is lifted - if you wish to get home before dark. Otherwise, I'm afraid, all of that waiting, and paperwork can be quite tedious."

Lex released an inexplicable volley of dry laughter, before summarily hiding her face behind her hands. Auror Roman simply stared at Wyomi over the top of his mug, as he took a long swig of his butterbeer, and then plunked the copper mug right back down onto the countertop.

Wyomi's frustration had finally peaked, and a lightning-bolt-shaped crack sliced suddenly through Roman's mostly-untouched mug of Butterbeer. A metallic chink sounded, as the copper mug warped inward in the shape of a thrown fist. Then, a shimmering fountain of golden liquid jettisoned from the lip of the mug, and upwards into the Auror's face, before sloshing back down onto the countertop and floor below.

Unfortunately, one of the more embarrassing side-effects of Wyomi's battle with potions addictions was an increase in incidents of accidental magic. As her anxiety grew, so did the likelihood of triggering such an event. One of these days, she was afraid, her accidental magic would land her in some serious trouble.

Fortunately, in this instance, the victim of her inabilities did not raise a fuss, and she muttered her sincerest apologies, as she quickly retrieved her wand, and siphoned up the sticky mess. The Auror had returned to his cool, unaffected demeanor, and waved her off, as he dried his own clothes with a couple flicks of his wand. Then, he watched in mild curiosity, as Lex carefully patted at some wet spots on her shirt with a napkin.

Wyomi's anger had rapidly drained from her body, replaced only with heavy sorrow, and exhaustion. Ashamed of her childish outburst, Wyomi struggled to compose herself, once more. The trials of the day had successfully dragged the traumas of her past to the surface. She usually kept to herself on Chayton's birthday, but today was something unusual. Today, Wyomi decided, she was ready to share.

"I know it's a no-maj bomb, Roman, because I've seen this happen once before," she answered darkly, "The Scourers did the exact same thing… the day they murdered my little brother."

Immediately, Lex's brow furrowed, her expression pained and sympathetic, but Roman simply proceeded with his interrogation, voice insistent and demanding, "Which attack was this?"

"Pah! It was decades ago, long before you were born, let alone serving as an Auror… they call it the Orphanage Massacre of '87," she sighed, releasing a short mirthless laugh, and then continuing, "It's sad isn't it? Sad that they had to add a year to the name… I mean, when you mention an orphanage massacre, you shouldn't have to ask 'which one?' It's horrible… Anyway, this was the last recorded case of a Scourer attack on an orphanage. The horror has never really ended for me, though…"

"What was his name?" Lex whispered softly.

Lex had remained silent through most of Wyomi's "disagreement" with Auror Roman, and Wyomi was pleased that she had decided to join the conversation, once more. Her gentle questions, and familiar manner of speaking were as warm and welcoming, as Roman's were cold and callous.

"Chayton, Chayton Wolfe, sweetie. He wasn't my biological brother, but we grew up together. I even gave him my last name… I suppose, we sort of adopted each other, Chayton and I - we were both orphans, you see."

Wyomi retrieved a pitcher of butterbeer, a new copper mug, and her copy of _The Quibbler_ from her place behind the bar. She continued to reminisce aloud, while pouring Auror Roman a new serving of his beverage.

"Both his parents had died of natural causes. It was a small family, and there were no living family members to take him in, so, next thing you know, this little toddler shows up at my orphanage," she sighed, grabbing her mangly dishrag from behind the counter, and scrubbing at the countertop, while she spoke, "I, myself, was still hurting. I was lonely, oh so lonely, after my family got the Tap. And… from the moment Chayton and I first saw each other, something just clicked. We became inseparable."

"What's the Tap?" Lex interrupted hesitantly, biting her lower lip.

The young witch sat with her chin resting in her hands, leaning forward, and listening intently, as Wyomi recounted her past. Auror Roman wasn't nearly as entranced, of course, but he seemed genuinely interested in the discussion, as he drank his butterbeer. She noted with satisfaction that he was drinking this serving of butterbeer _much_ more quickly than he had the last.

Wyomi was always somewhat disturbed, however, to find that so few wizards and witches were familiar with the plight of the no-maj-born. Or, perhaps, they merely chose to feign ignorance. She supposed that the harsh system wasn't _exactly_ ideal press for MACUSA, and, thus, MACUSA employees most likely did everything in their power to downplay it in the eyes of the public. Though it promised misfortune for Wyomi and other no-maj-born, popular opinion was that The Tap was a necessary evil to maintain the integrity of the International Statute of Secrecy.

"Oh dear, my age must be showing! Or… possibly, you're unfamiliar with the no-maj-born system?" she replied helpfully.

"I don't know nearly as much as I'd like to," answered Lex bluntly.

Auror Roman plunked his now-empty glass onto the table, before gazing at Lex with an amused expression. He drew his arm in a grand, sweeping gesture, as if he were granting Wyomi permission to speak in his royal court.

Then, he urged her onward in a low drawl, his request more of a command, "Please, enlighten us."

Lex and Wyomi shared an exasperated glance, before Wyomi proceeded to educate her audience.

"Well, as I'm sure you already know, Auror Roman, the Statute of Secrecy is very strict about fraternization with no-maj-kind. Any no-maj-born is an instant security risk. Every family member, and friend is a potential leak… every instance of… accidental magic is a potential scandal," said Wyomi, wincing in embarrassment, when she mentioned accidental magic, "but what fewer people know, because most people have no reason to pay attention, or - Merlin's pants - actually _question_ MACUSA, is that no-maj-born are given a hopeless choice, in order to lower the risk to the community."

Wyomi could tell from Auror Roman's sour expression that he knew what was coming next. Lex, however, was at the edge of her seat, leaning forward with a look of intense concentration on her face. Her brow furrowed, and eyes alert, it was as if Lex were attempting to translate the meaning of life from a parchment full of Gobbledegook.

Wyomi obliged her, and continued, "At the age of eleven, when most no-maj-born are first identified, the no-maj-born is given the choice of leaving their no-maj family immediately, to be raised in a wizarding orphanage, or waiting until they are seventeen, a legal adult, and giving their family the Tap. Friends and family of a no-maj-born are _going to be given the Tap_ either way - your choice, really, is just how you want to be raised."

"Yes, but what _is_ the Tap?" pressed Lex.

"It's colloquial slang for Obliviating all no-maj memories of a magical child. It's named for the way you _tap_ your wand to someone's head before you Obliviate them," Auror Roman answered abruptly.

Wyomi was reminded that she didn't know much about Lex's background. The American magical community was smaller than its European counterpart, and much-less-concentrated, or culturally-uniform, across its numerous locales. Small, distinct pockets of culture popped up all across the Americas, and each area was granted a respectable degree of autonomy, similar to each state within the United States. Wyomi couldn't help but wonder to which community Lex belonged. She certainly wasn't a city-crawler, for, if she were, she'd certainly be accustomed to the rich, colorful vocabulary that was American wizarding slang.

"That's awful!" gasped Lex, openly appalled, as she slapped her right hand over her chest.

"I must agree," said Auror Roman, much to Wyomi's surprise.

The Auror propped his mug between his thumb and index finger, aimlessly spinning it in place, with a distant stare, and deflated smile. Wyomi was suddenly reminded that she didn't know much about his background either.

"Yes, it is awful. But, that's the price we pay for being what we are," she sighed, eliciting a communal frown between the two witches and the wizard.

"I'm so sorry, Wyomi…" whispered Lex, as Roman simply hardened his gaze.

Guilt nagged at Wyomi's insides, her body clearly uncomfortable with accepting any form of pity. She didn't feel sorry for herself, or her lot in life. On the contrary, she felt she very much deserved it. Perhaps it was merely retroactive karma for her actions, or more appropriately, inaction, but Wyomi knew that she deserved to suffer.

"Don't be sorry for me. My pain is my own doing, Lex," the woman sighed, her face drooping until every bitter decade was laid bare on her face, "You see, the guilt is the hardest part… I'm not innocent. If I'd been a better sister… if I'd kept my word, Chayton would have survived that night too."

Auror Roman's expression was unreadable, but he appeared to be deep in thought. Fixing her with his steady gaze, Wyomi was briefly worried that the man might actually open a formal investigation into her guilt. As intense as he was, she certainly wouldn't put him past a "witch hunt."

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Auror Roman, with a coolness that was becoming quite predictable.

"Don't you wonder why I'm standing here, alive, today?" she laughed hollowly, "I snuck out that night… I was sixteen, and stupid. I didn't care much for my schoolwork - all I could think about was boys, boys, boys! There was one boy, a werewolf, that liked to lurk around the outskirts of town. You see, the Wolfsbane potion had only been around for a few years, and there was still a lot of stigma attached to lycanthropy, so werewolves like him stuck to themselves mostly, wandering the woods."

Wyomi crooked a finger at her fancy chair behind the bar, and it eagerly waddled over. She lowered herself onto the chair, and began to twirl a long, jet-black strand of hair around her finger, as she spoke.

"He was handsome, dangerous, and off-limits, so, naturally, I was crazy about the guy. Every couple of weeks he'd show up, back in town, and I would drop everything to run and see him," she sighed, lost in nostalgia, before shaking the memories from her mind, and continuing with her tale, "Anyway, the day of the bombing, Chayton's idol, Newton Scamander - you know, the famous magizoologist… _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ … Anyway, he was in town for a book signing, along with Chayton's other idol, Luna Lovegood."

Wyomi lifted The Quibbler from its resting place on her lap, and held it erect for the young couple to see. Despite her significant, sentimental reasons for reading _The Quibbler_ , Wyomi still felt a little embarrassed at times to be seen reading the magazine oh-so-appropriately nicknamed the 'lunatic rag.' Thus, even through the stifling sorrow of the moment, a sheepish grin still managed to worm its way onto her face.

"Luna Lovegood's family publishes _The Quibbler_ , you see…" Wyomi explained weakly.

She set the paper back down, relieved when neither Lex, nor Auror Roman seemed affected in the least. Roman had made it quite clear that he thought little of her "conjecture," or reasoning skills, and she didn't need him to find yet another reason to portray her as a madwoman.

"Anyway, Chayton was obsessed with becoming a magizoologist. I promised I would sneak him out with me to go to the book signing that afternoon, but then my hunky, werewolf crush showed up, and… I took off without him. I just - I just left -" wailed Wyomi, choking back tears.

 _The cover of his leathery suitcase was covered several times over in stickers he'd collected, each one marking a different exotic location the Scamanders had visited. The back of the suitcase only wore a single sticker for now, but he swore to fill it with stickers of his own, once he was old enough to travel. He sat cross-legged on the floor, stuffing toy dragons, and various other knick-knacks he'd found to present to his idols, into the plain case. Hanging a silly, butterbeer-cap necklace around his neck, he gazed up at her with warm, amber eyes, and a toothy smile. Brimming with excitement, he exclaimed gleefully, "This is going to be so awesome! Thanks for taking me, Wyomi!"_

Lex reached across the bar, and squeezed Wyomi's hand gently. Wyomi warmed at the kind witch's gesture, and quickly fought through the thick, suffocating bramble of her painful memories. They had nearly depleted all the napkins stacked at this segment of the bar, but she grabbed yet another, dabbing at her eyes, and then blowing her nose.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Anyway," she continued with a deep sigh, "That night, when I returned to the orphanage, I couldn't even _see_ past the line of Aurors. The fire had died, but you could still smell the smoke in the air… And when I finally caught a glimpse, I could see the Mediwizards… they were picking through the blackened wreckage of the building, trying to identify bodies… but, no one had survived. No one, but me."

Wyomi placed a toy dragon tenderly upon the countertop. Its metallic gray body scales were accented by bronze horns, and a line of bronze spikes formed a ridge down its back. The scales surrounding its face, as well as its back ridges, faded to black, emphasizing a pair of vivid, crimson eyes. As soon as its little feet touched the wooden countertop, the feisty figurine began swiping playfully at Wyomi's fingers with its long, "vicious" talons.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked distantly.

Lex shook her head, reaching a hand forward to stroke the toy's back. She wiggled her fingers to-and-fro, watching in fascination, as the lively dragon chased after them. After a few seconds, it hopped onto its back, and waited for Lex to gently rub its stomach.

"It's a dragon figurine," Roman stated in a bored voice.

Now that the more "relevant" part of her story was finished, Roman was obviously anxious to return to the Auror business she'd so rudely interrupted. Wyomi supposed she had already taken up enough of their time, and could always speak to Lex on some later date. Thus, she resolved to finish her story as quickly as possible. She was still only on page three of _The Quibbler_ , after all…

"Of course, it's a figurine! I'm not even _close_ to qualified to handle a baby dragon…" Wyomi bellowed, noting that Lex's large, round eyes looked about ready to pop right out of her skull, "I meant the breed! It's an Ironbelly Ridgeback. Ukranian Ironbellies are the world's _largest_ dragons, and Romanian Ridgebacks are some of the world's _rarest_ , and _meanest_. Even rarer than a Ridgeback, though, are dragon hybrids. And, this one," she said, pointing to the toy dragon, which had begun blowing smoke rings from its nose, "the Ironbelly Ridgeback, is one of the rarest of all."

Lex murmured a hushed, reverent _Wow_ , while Roman rolled his eyes. He tapped his fingers anxiously against the countertop, and glanced over at the stack of parchments he'd set aside when Wyomi had first interrupted. Yes, she knew that she was officially overstaying her welcome… She'd do her best not to antagonize the bothersome Auror any further.

"Largest, and meanest - that sounds like a recipe for disaster," he remarked scornfully.

"It's obviously very closely monitored, and regulated," Wyomi responded defensively, always a bit annoyed to hear Chayton's interests criticized, no matter how logical the criticism, "Hybrids are the most deadly, the most dangerous. But, it's for good reason - they take the best of both breeds, and create one that's even better, one capable of more than what either breed was capable of alone."

Lex perked up, and added cheerfully, "You mean to say, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts?"

Lex was clearly an intelligent woman, and most likely had been much more successful and diligent than Wyomi with her magical education - of course, that wasn't really saying much, Wyomi admitted ruefully. Something about the phrase 'sum of its parts,' however, jogged a memory of an Advanced Potions class at Ilvermorny.

Not wishing to look completely uneducated, she added as nonchalantly as possible, "Yes, exactly. Eh, isn't that Golpalott's Law, or something?"

"Err… I'm not sure. I just remember the phrase," Lex said with a friendly laugh.

Wyomi smiled. She didn't even know why she had bothered worrying. Lex was one of the least judgmental witches she had ever met! Her warm acceptance continuously cut through Wyomi's worries, like radiant sunbeams through a cloudy haze.

"No matter, sweetie - I wasn't much interested in books either!" Wyomi exclaimed, while Lex furrowed her brow quizzically, and Roman chortled, "Anyway, the Ironbelly Ridgeback was always Chayton's favorite. He gave me this little figurine for Christmas one year. I suspect he gave it to me, because _he_ really wanted to play with it, but I didn't mind… He told me that it was his favorite, so I should have it, and he would always keep me company. Now it's the only thing I have left of him."

Wyomi fought back the bile that rose in her throat thanks to the painful weight of her last, bitter statement. She stroked the toy dragon's ridged back absently, as a lone tear trickled down the contours of her left cheek.

"The fire that night didn't burn even _half_ as hot as an Ironbelly Ridgeback's breath, but the Scourers were more malevolent than any dragon… They say the skeletons showed signs of torture - skulls crushed, bones snapped. Between their mutilation and the flames, it was enough to mangle the bodies of my friends, my family, beyond all recognition. MACUSA just guessed for the burials…"

Wyomi wiped the single tear from her cheek, and stood from her seat. Auror Roman looked quite relieved, as she collected her things to go. Wyomi then nudged her chair, and it trotted off to an empty corner of the bar, where she would soon read, and ruminate in peace.

"Now, every year, on his birthday, I buy and read the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ ," she said, patting the paper she held clutched to her chest fondly, before admitting, "It's a lunatic rag, alright, but it's Luna Lovegood's paper, and one of Chayton's old favorites. I've got an entire stack of 'em, dating all the way back to '87. Every year, I read it for him…"

With a great, heaving sigh, she turned to leave. After offering the two of them free refills, as well as the typical bartender's spiel, she gave Lex one final nod, and walked away. Then, settling into her fancy seat, she opened _The Quibbler_ to page three.

* * *

"And here I thought bartenders were supposed to listen to you talk about _your own_ problems," chuckled Seth, as Wyomi returned to her distant corner.

After leaving the outdoor patio, around 3 PM, Seth had generously, or, perhaps, shrewdly, allowed Lex to choose which dining establishment they visited for their late lunch. Having visited only one magical shop, and one magical dining facility in her entire young life, the answer was quite obviously The Bloody Banshee.

Lex was now immensely grateful for her pumpkin-based-product obsession, for if she _hadn't_ stumbled upon The Bloody Banshee two days prior, in her mad search for a Pumpkin Spice Latte, she would have been forced to rely on her unreliable skills of improvisation to explain why she couldn't name a single magical restaurant. Seth surely would have smelled blood in the water. That man was like a shark when it came to sniffing out suspicious activity, and her non-magical self definitely didn't need to go and send him into the feeding frenzy of his life…

Seth had only managed to obtain the basic information of what time Lex had entered The Inside Out, and where she was at the time of the explosion of "unconfirmed origin," when Wyomi suddenly interrupted. Lex's tortured, twisting nerves were immensely relieved by the welcome disruption, while Wyomi regaled her and Seth with tales of the past, as well as her passionate interpretations of recent events. Seth was far less pleased, but he appeared to salvage some facts of interest from the proceedings, nonetheless.

Lex still wasn't sure what to make of their confusing, explosive "debate," but she concluded that it really wasn't her biggest concern right now. Wyomi certainly seemed anxious and fragile, just like Lex imagined _anyone_ would be after the tragedy of a loved one's murder. However, Scourers were a potential threat that she couldn't quite prepare for at the moment, and the Seth Roman Inquisition was a definite threat that was occurring right _at this moment_. She decided that her own judgment of recent events could wait until after Seth's beloved, official, MACUSA statements were made.

"Shall we return to my interview?" asked Lex eagerly, ignoring Seth's snide remark.

She was sure that Seth had already learned a great deal about her from her interactions with Wyomi, but Lex had gleaned a great deal of valuable information from the conversation too. When Wyomi had explained the no-maj-born system, Lex had seized upon a brilliant idea. Well, it was the brightest idea she had, at least…

Summoning all the knowledge she had of squibs from the Flourish & Fontaine books, as well as her blossoming friendship with Jeremiah Jonker, Lex realized that being a squib might be a disappointment in a wandshop, but here, in front of an Auror, it could be her saving grace.

In the magical literature she'd read, squibs were sometimes viewed even more harshly than no-maj, with some families disowning squib offspring, and other, kinder families simply sending them to live among the non-magicals. Ugh, really, the entire concept had read like the end of a cliché, tear-jerking, animal film, where, at the end of the film, the superior creature does what's best for the simpleton, and releases it into the wild. Lex had read so much ridiculous nonsense in some of those books at Flourish & Fontaine, such as the killer washing machines in _When Muggles Attack_ , that she had been certain the reports of anti-squib sentiment were greatly exaggerated. After meeting Jeremiah Jonker, however, she knew that she had been wrong.

Magical governments somewhat begrudgingly allowed squibs to remain in the magical community, if the squib so desired, but, officially, the magical governments didn't even record their births. However, their paperwork nightmare was Lex's subterfuge dream. To rise to the mantle of "squibdom," she didn't need to provide wizarding school transcripts, she didn't need to provide a birth certificate, and she didn't need to provide a wand permit. All she needed to provide was a stellar acting performance.

 _To squib or not to squib?_ thought Lex's inner jokester, _To thine own squib be true…_

 _Shut up - this isn't Hamlet!_ chided the inner rationalist.

 _Shall I compare thee to a raining-explosive-hashtag-non-magical-fugitive-life day?_ , continued the jokester.

 _Okay, now you're just trying too hard…_ Lex thought in exasperation, attempting to reign in her inopportune humor, and prepare for a serious ordeal.

Seth pulled his antique pocketwatch from his cloak pocket, and glanced at the time. Lex wasn't sure what he could possibly have to do, since she'd just heard Wilkinson give him the rest of the day off, but she knew that his haste could only be useful to her. If he felt pressured to hurry this interrogation along, it meant that he'd be spending less time scrutinizing, and dissecting all of Lex's responses. Hope swelled in her chest, as it dawned on her that she might actually pull this off…

"Yes, indeed. We need to get through the rest of the basics, as well as a few follow-up questions," he answered ominously, "But, I'm afraid, given all the… interruptions, we won't have time to eat."

"Okay, let's get this over with, then," Lex said, perhaps too cheerfully.

Seth raised an eyebrow, and looked at her quizzically. He probably wished to ask why she was suddenly so chipper, but, ultimately, he stayed true to the task at hand. If the notion that she was eager to get away from Seth had even _occurred_ to him, Lex was sure that he was much too arrogant to admit it.

"Alright," he stated firmly, as he jotted a brief note, across a piece of yellow parchment, in his tiny, cursive scrawl, "The time is 4:32 PM, on October twenty-third. Let us begin."

He set his pocketwatch delicately down onto the countertop between them. The watch was encased in dark, stainless steel, over which webbed detailed engravings of winding tree branches, human hands, and decorative wisps of flame. Shining, silver roman numerals circled a ruby-red window, which covered the ticking, turning gears hidden within its shell, and a sophisticated pair of silver watch hands pointed to four, and six, respectively. Despite the intricacy of its parts, however, the watch's overall appearance was simple, manly, and elegant. Lex felt that Seth could not have picked for himself a more appropriate watch.

"Alexandra, you entered The Inside Out at approximately 8:30 AM this morning, and were within visual range of The Bank of the Fae at 10:23 AM, when it exploded. Is that correct?" Seth echoed emotionlessly, looking briefly up from his parchment to confirm her brisk nod, "Good. Prior to the explosion, where were you, and is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts?"

Lex released a short sigh. She had not been expecting this question, but she supposed it could only serve to strengthen the cover story she'd concocted. Collecting her wits about her, she quickly noted that any believable, emotional descriptions she could give of her supposed life-as-a-squib would lend credibility to her supposedly-innocuous motivations.

 _I went to the wandshop, because I hoped I was a late-bloomer. Insert sappy feelings here… I went to the bank, because I needed to exchange the no-maj money I earn at my no-maj job for dragots. Insert anti-no-maj lamentations here…_ thought Lex quickly, doing her best to get "into character."

"I was at Jonker's Wandcraftery. Jeremiah Jonker, a fellow squib, can confirm," she answered matter-of-factly.

Seth perked up immediately at the word 'squib,' and quite uncharacteristically blurted out the question, "You're a squib?"

Now, Lex prepared herself for the more difficult part. If she were to engage in true, convincing "method acting," she needed to become the squib she had invented. She needed to anticipate the kind of responses a squib in her fictional position would give, and the sort of attitude they'd exhibit. She needed to behave as someone who belonged in this world would - unafraid of speaking her mind to Auror Seth Roman. Yes, "Lex-the-Squib" needed to push back - she needed to play the player.

"Yes, I'm a squib, Seth! Geez, couldn't you tell?" she asked in scornful amusement.

 _A squib would be flattered to be mistaken for a witch, right? Or would they be upset? Ugh! Oh well, it's too late now…_ she thought, _Flattered it is…_

His eyes met hers with a searching gaze. Beneath his calm, outer shell, Lex could see him carefully calculating this new information, the gears of his mind turning, as steadily and nimbly as the metal gears of his pocket watch.

"No, I couldn't. I apologize. I noticed you lack a wand, but I had overlooked the possibility of you being a squib…" he stated flatly, before asking the obvious question, "Why were you at the wandshop?"

 _Here we go - the biggest moment of my acting career. Break a leg…_ thought Lex, bolstering her resolve.

"Well, uh, I know it's silly… I mean, the whole 'late-bloomer' thing is a major long-shot… You've probably got a better chance of finding a Hidebehind in the dark…" she stammered, while chuckling nervously, and repeatedly clasping and unclasping her hands over her lap.

"You were hoping you'd be chosen by a wand?" Seth asked skeptically.

"Yes! Like I said, I know it's dumb… It's just that I've been feeling differently, and, well… Every time I feel a bit different, I think maybe it's my magic. Maybe, it's my magic finally kicking in, you know?" she pleaded anxiously, doing her best to sound simultaneously desperate, self-deprecating, and hopeful.

Seth's expression softened slightly, as he at last relented, gave a sharp sigh, and instructed her simply, "Okay, let's move on."

Lex found that it was surprisingly easy to pretend to be a "normal," permanent squib - she hadn't even lied yet! She supposed she technically _was_ a squib at the moment - albeit a temporary one - but she wasn't naive enough to believe that her awkward status would be sufficient to satiate Seth and the rest of MACUSA. Instead, she felt the greatest likelihood of success lay with selling a convincing, partially-honest act. She placed her faith as an actress in channeling her genuine, tumultuous feelings of magical-inadequacy, and spot-checking her own squib-imitating performance with the reliable mantra _What would Jeremiah Jonker do?_

Seth finished penning his latest notes, and droned on, "Please, describe what you saw in William's Square around the time of the explosion. Did you see anyone, or anything out-of-the-ordinary?"

Lex consciously furrowed her brow, and fixated on one the folds of Seth's black cloak. She pretended to be furiously racking her brain for every minute detail, though she, honestly, would have no idea what ordinary even _was_ in the magical world. Contextually, she figured that 'William's Square' must be the courtyard square that featured the formerly-grand Bank of the Fae, and she mentally filed the fact away for later.

When Seth finally cleared his throat loudly, and glanced over the countertop at his watch, Lex discontinued her current act.

"I'm sorry, I just can't remember anything unusual, besides the explosion. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention," she answered, with an abashed smile, before proceeding to describe in gruesome detail the charred corpses she had seen.

Before she knew it, however, she was no longer acting. The devastation of the day was still fresh in her mind, the horror and violence of those moments seared into her memory with sharp, pristine, perfect clarity. Remembering the all-encompassing fear that had consumed her, all heat drained from her body, leaving her empty, cold, and trembling.

"Okay, that's enough, Lex," Seth snapped, his voice deep, and commanding, "I assure you, MACUSA personnel will have already conducted a thorough inspection of the cadavers, and the crime scene."

Once he'd confirmed that Lex had, indeed, stopped reliving the morning's trauma and returned to the present, Seth returned to his careful penmanship. Amazingly, he was still writing on the same piece of relatively short, yellow parchment. However, understanding immediately blossomed within Lex's awareness, as she watched him tap the yellow page once with his wand, and then watched the parchment clear itself of its ink. A new, official-looking document subsequently faded into view, and Lex had to begrudgingly admit that MACUSA wasn't quite as inefficient as the colonial-style buildings, and medieval-esque, magical objects had led her to believe.

"Where did you go, after the explosion, and is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts?" Seth asked, proceeding with his relentless line of questioning.

Lex's mind was whirring, like an overclocked computer, and it quickly computed the most advantageous solution to the posed problem. Obviously, she would gloss over the "alcove incident," as best she could. The rest of the day's happenings were largely safe, vague, and boring. Yes, she could safely relate the rest of the story, but there was still room to succeed with style…

"Well, like I said before, there was smoke everywhere, and people were running and screaming. I turned and ran, as well. It took me a while, but I eventually made it back to the southern entrance. A man I've never met before healed me, while I stopped to catch my breath, and, then, when he was done, I decided to calm my nerves. I pulled out an old copy of _The New York Ghost_ , and sat down at a table to work on a crossword puzzle."

"Uh huh, I see, and -"

"Oh, no, wait - I'm not done! There was this really obnoxious guy, who kept pestering me…" she began in mock concern, leaning over, and staring at the parchment as if she could _actually_ read the microscopic letters of his flowing, cursive script, while she gestured repeatedly at the page, "Make sure you get this down! He was a shameless flirt - shameless! F-l-i-r-t… I asked him to leave repeatedly, but, you know, the harassment just _continued_ -"

"Are you quite done?" Seth interrupted her dramatic arm-waving, his tone patronizing, yet amused.

"Ugh! Aren't you taking this seriously, Auror Roman?" Lex countered, encouraged when Seth tapped the parchment once more, and finalized his latest report, "What if he comes after me again? You're an Auror - you're supposed to protect me! This should be _immediately_ reported to P-R-Q-A…"

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to tell the witches and wizards at Quality Assurance all about your dating woes," Seth drawled sarcastically.

"Dating woes? Oh, that's right - I forgot. This is a date," scoffed Lex, taking a swig of her recently-refilled pumpkin juice, and plopping the mug back onto the countertop, "You have a funny idea of a date, Auror Roman."

Seth murmured a simple _Perhaps_ and grinned mischievously over the parchment he held between his hands.

"Now, for the follow-up questions… First, where did you get that copy of _The New York Ghost_?" he inquired nonchalantly.

Her shock at the question struck so suddenly that Lex was caught quite unaware, and her face immediately contorted into an unattractive expression of open bewilderment. Why on Earth would he care about the newspaper? Was he trying to pin her whereabouts to the alcove? If that was the case, she _definitely_ needed to steer him away from that entire alcove visit. Omitting details wasn't lying… right?

She blurted in protest, "Why does that matter? How is the _newspaper_ relevant?"

"Just curious," he stated bluntly, "I suppose you're right, though - it isn't very relevant, after all. Moving on… my second question, what are your parents names? I am unfamiliar with the Austin line."

Ah, he _was_ clever… Lex had hoped to skip this chapter of her fictional narrative, for it was certainly the riskiest part of her planned cover story. Logical assumptions are only as useful as the data on which they are based. And, she didn't have _nearly_ enough information about all of the intricacies of the magical world - certainly, not enough to truly know whether or not she was weaving a plausible tale.

For example, she knew that the Obliviation spells removed memories, but she didn't know the limitations of said spells, or their legality. The best she could do was work with the limited information she'd been given, make some educated guesses, and pray that her mind's heuristic engine was up to the task…

 _I'm ashamed of my squib past_ , she thought, trying to get into character, _I've got major abandonment issues… Angst. Grrr._

She began with a mournful sigh.

"I don't know," she said dully, settling her gaze on the floor, and maneuvering her facial muscles into a downcast expression.

Seth was clearly puzzled, and he shot back skeptically, "What do you mean you don't know? You have to know…"

"No, I don't," she spat, before explaining glumly, "They didn't want me to remember… They were ashamed of my - of my -"

Lex paused for dramatic effect. She hung her head, and a thick, auburn curtain of hair fell loosely about her face, as if it were a dramatic theater curtain drawn closed, before the start of a play. She next crossed her arms tightly across her chest, and squeezed.

 _Don't overdo it now!_ warned her inner rationalist, _You've supposedly had years to process and deal with this harsh, brutal reality… Remember, it's got to be believable…_

Gasping, as if it to summon her strength, she abruptly sat up straight, brushing the loose strands of hair from her face.

Then, with a blank, emotionless expression, she fixed Seth with a steady gaze, and said, in a voice cool, and detached, "My parents were ashamed of my status as a squib. Rather than disown me, and leave me to fend for myself, they decided to set me up with a no-maj family… after Obliviating any memories I could use to return, or to identify them."

Seth's startled expression was priceless, and it took all of Lex's self-control to maintain her grim visage. She hoped that his surprise was at the actions of her fictional parents, and not at an illogical explanation.

"Wha - what?" Seth stuttered in a manner that must have felt extremely foreign on his silver-tongue, "That's… barbaric. Why haven't you reported this to MACUSA?"

Satisfied with his response, Lex decided to spice things up with a light, bitter seasoning of signature Jeremiah Jonker, "You think MACUSA would actually care about the fate of a squib? It's a squib versus a magical family. We've already seen how that plays out…"

Lex _hadn't_ seen how _that_ plays out. In fact, she was vaguely appalled, when she realized she had no idea what she was even talking about anymore. From all of the research she'd done, she could only recall one datapoint - one. Yes, unfortunately, Lex did not have an eidetic memory, or current access to her cellphone photos, but, quite fortunately, Seth was perfectly capable of filling in the blanks for clueless her.

With a short sigh, he drew his mouth into a thin, grim line, and admitted, "You're right. I wish you weren't, but at this point I don't think MACUSA can help. Currently, the Auror office has much higher priorities… Did your parents, and I use that term loosely, False Memory Charm the no-maj family they left you with?"

"I don't know all the specifics. I wasn't meant to," Lex answered stoically, "They made it so that I couldn't identify them, and left."

"I suspect they also protected their identities, in order to escape blame, and persecution," he stated grimly, "Using Obliviation spells… possibly False Memory Charms… and on no-maj, nonetheless! These are serious offenses, Lex."

Lex was surprised to observe that Seth actually looked more than mildly upset by her story. He chugged what was rest of his butterbeer, and slapped the empty mug down onto the counter. His face was contorted into a deep scowl, a wild gleam in his eye.

He didn't once flinch, while Wyomi recounted a tale featuring mutilated, burned, orphan children, but now he was upset by her getting a partial memory-wipe? Or, perhaps, was it that she was raised by no-maj? She knew that there was plenty of anti-no-maj sentiment, but… could he really be that petty?

Lex only had a brief chance to wonder, however. As quickly as this dark cloud of anger had passed over him, the cloud swiftly drifted away once more. Within seconds, Auror Roman was back on task.

"Last question, Lex…" he began, grasping his empty mug firmly between both hands, as he stared at the wall behind the bar, "...why didn't you expect Wyomi to recognize you?"

 _And… there goes the_ Oh shit! _Emergency broadcast again…_ she thought bitterly, even as the panic set in.

Lex was stunned. Of all the lies to be caught in… damn. Wyomi believed that Lex had been attacked by Scourers. Of course, Wyomi seemed to think every issue was because of the Scourers… No. No, she refused to slip up, and miss out on magic, because of some misunderstanding she'd blundered into so obliviously on her very-first-day as a squib.

The most convincing lies were based in truth, and Lex decided that the truth was precisely what would get her out of this mess.

"I… had a really, _really_ clumsy day, a few days ago," she said with a self-deprecating laugh, "I got a door slammed into my face, got bumped and pushed around… I had a nasty fall on the pavement, and, well, let's just say the bruises were _hideous_ … So I came in here for a drink with a hat and a scarf around my face. Later, I finally took a potion, and it cleared right up."

Lex gave a final nonchalant shrug, and awaited the final results of her performance. Her judge looked somewhat disappointed, but he nodded slowly, and then casually slid a few silver coins onto the table, before scooping up his pocketwatch.

Glancing at the silvery hands of his watch, he announced formally, "Time is 5:12 PM. The entire session lasted exactly forty minutes."

Seth then returned his watch to his cloak pocket, as Lex murmured a brief _Mmm hm_. She didn't understand his need to monitor the time so meticulously, and wondered whether or not that was standard Auror operating procedure…

According to Auror Wilkinson, Seth wasn't well-known for being conventional or following the rules, but here he was acting the part of a paperwork-stickler… Seriously, did _anyone_ know who this guy really was?

"I'll be in touch with the details for our next outing," Seth stated casually, as he folded his parchment paper, and stuffed it into the same cloak pocket that held his watch.

"Wait. What?" squealed Lex.

Had she missed something? Her mental faculties had been strained-to-the-max, and she yearned for the comfort of her bed, but even now she wasn't tired enough to forget their deal. They had struck a bargain, and these, sir, were not the terms…

"What's the confusion, Lex?" Seth responded with a sly grin, "You promised me one hour, and we have only used forty minutes. And, since we skipped lunch, we might as well be efficient, and use the remaining twenty minutes on a future meal."

No.

No, no, no, no - this was _not_ happening again. Yet, even as her thoughts clamored in mental protest, she knew she was too tired to weasel out of this one. She had pulled enough fake, non-magical-impostor, Houdini-escape acts for one grim Sunday, thanks.

 _The Alexandra Austin Public Relations Creative Solutions subdepartment, PRCS, is now closed for the day. Please, return during our normal business hours, and, oh, just go on the stupid date_ , thought Lex's inner voices in wholly-unhelpful consensus.

"Fine," she grumbled.

Standing from her seat, and adjusting her coat, Lex attempted, but utterly failed to avoid Seth's self-satisfied smirk. Ugh, she couldn't believe this drama still wasn't over…. She slid off of her barstool, and waved goodbye to Wyomi, who'd finished _The Quibbler_ long ago, and was now chatting at a table of cackling, middle-aged witches. Then, aside from a few short, exasperated groans from Lex, the couple walked in complete silence to the exit.

As they strolled towards the front door, Lex realized a surprising fact, an observation that, in her distracted state, she'd almost let pass unacknowledged - Seth hadn't recorded _any_ of his follow-up questions. He hadn't reported a single one. Well, at least not in front of Lex…

If those weren't official questions, why did he ask? None of them had been particularly incriminating, after all. He _had_ seemed rather upset by her squib fib. Could he be… no… was Seth Roman protecting her, and her personal "secrets"? Lex decided that this was definitely an observation to mentally file-away for later review.

Through one of the windows flanking the front door, Lex spied the skeletal skyscrapers, and shimmering dome of The Inside Out. A few stray witches, and wizards milled about the patchwork streets, and the entire area was awash in the beautiful pinks, purples, and oranges of a sunset.

However, right before her eyes, the picturesque view shifted. The scene was cut into long, thick ribbons, and flipped over to form a new scene, just like the lenticular images of an animated billboard. Now, the setting sun's rays cast warm light over an empty, no-maj street, and the glow of the orange and red sunlight sharply contrasted the dark, creeping shadows, which reached for a line of uniform, colonial-style buildings across the road.

Lex was not too tired to appreciate this last impressive display of Inside Out magic. She realized that, like the rest of The Inside Out, the entrances and exits to buildings must operate based on desire. Lex, Seth, or, perhaps, both of them together, had visualized in their mind the street to which they wanted to exit, and The Inside Out had obliged.

As the odd pair walked down the shadowy alley, beset by lines of colorful cobwebs, and adorable Jack-o-Lanterns, Seth suggestively offered to escort Lex home. Lex, however, was not born yesterday. Well, she was kind of _reborn_ yesterday… But, that was beside the point! The point was, she knew better than to reveal to the enterprising, young Auror precisely where she lived. He probably had some sort of "Instant Stalkers Kit" book of spells waiting at home anyway, and she refused to make his job any easier. Because, really, the last thing her magical mission needed right now was Auror Seth Roman hovering about.

* * *

 _Thousands of tiny Ukrainian Ironbellies, and Norwegian Ridgebacks flitted about underneath the dome of The Inside Out. Their miniature wings, and puffs of smoky breath eclipsed the sun, until only small pinpricks of sunlight made it through the thick, buzzing swarm._

 _Lex stood in the middle of an empty courtyard, the darkness creeping in all around her._

 _Suddenly, the swarm of dragons swooped downward in a spiraling column, and surrounded Lex in a dusty cloud. Coarse, wispy wings, and sharp, glimmering talons brushed harmlessly at her neck, cheeks, and eyes._

 _Then, the dragon horde clumped together, pressing, and pulling against one another, merging into a metallic, grey glob, until the entire mob coalesced into a single, gigantic beast - an Ironbelly Ridgeback. The hybrid roared, and spat a bright, sweltering ball of orange, red, and white flame onto Lex. Then, like a star going nova, the blazing ball of fire erupted, its glorious, explosive burst burning Lex's body, and the rest of the world to ash. Nothing was left but endless darkness._

 _Amidst the darkness, a single, hanging light bulb finally flickered to life. A cone of yellow light shone down over the interior of Lex's living room. She sat on her couch, gazing at a crowd of black-clad figures seated across the coffee table. In the center of the assembly sat Seth Roman, his fierce gaze burning into her own._

 _In the dim light, the corners of her vision were dark, and faded. A warm, serenity seemed to emanate from Seth. He was a calm, pleasant lantern in the night, and she was a hopeful moth, drawn to his light. All was pleasant, and all was well._

 _He leaned forward, and soon his silky voice caressed her ears._

 _"I know you're not a squib, Lex. What are you?"_

 _"I'm a no-maj," she said, her voice echoing, whispering about the growing darkness of the room._

 _"Tell me all your secrets, Lex. Tell me everything," he commanded._

 _And Lex obliged._

On October 24th, at 12:20 PM, Alexandra Austin awoke in a cold sweat.


	5. Of Windsocks & Weasleys

_+- Author's Foreword -+_

 _ **TRIGGER WARNINGS: gore, language**_

 _ **Thank you** to all the readers, and reviewers, who have stuck with me so far! I know this isn't what people typically look to read on FF, and I'm so humbled, when people still enjoy the ride! I answer all of my reviews - I truly love hearing from all of you, and getting your valuable feedback._

 _This past month, I've been busy with a move, and the holiday season, but I hope to get back to updating more frequently in the coming weeks._

 _Future chapters will also return to a shorter length. This chapter, believe it or not, has already been shortened from its original length..._

 _~*~ **Happy Holidays!** ~*~_

 _FOR SCIENCE(!):_

 _\+ More about beating infrared [ goo. gl/zahYrQ ] [ goo. gl/Bgu6VP ]_

 _\+ More about smart contacts [ goo. gl/TMiTqA ][ goo. gl/ct3Yly ]_

 _\+ Some real smart garments [ goo. gl/mm6UpB ]_

* * *

 **Five ~ _Of Windsocks & Weasleys_**

Freddy Aeon was _the best_. His company's stock showed a five percent decrease on the ticker that morning, the Chinese were protesting some loophole in their labor laws, or whatever, and Epoch Industries' biggest competitor was threatening yet another lawsuit, but Freddy Aeon was not the least bit afraid. He lived for danger, thrived amidst conflict. Yes, Freddy Aeon always fought through the setbacks, and made the free market his _bitch_.

What his fickle investors would soon discover is that Freddy Aeon had gone and saved their asses yet _again_. He'd secured yet another prime, military contract, which was, unfortunately, much too sensitive, and much too confidential to reveal to the press. However, these new contracts, along with the impending Silicon Valley debut of Epoch Industries' newest, cutting-edge, fully-patented Heads Up Display, or HUD, system, meant that his company, Epoch Industries, would soon be the new world leader in their field, the new "face" of Augmented Reality.

Freddy braced himself against the gaping opening in the aft baggage compartment of his personal Gulfstream G650ER, his private jet plane with a modest 65 million dollar price tag. Winds whooshed by at speeds upwards of 75 miles-per-hour, sending his wavy, jet black locks into a mad frenzy. The loose, wild strands whipped at his cheeks, and the lenses of his sleek, stylish goggles.

Freddy noted with satisfaction that his goggles alone should win him a couple of flashy tech awards, as well as some useful, positive press for the added accessibility, or "disability-friendly," features. His eyes teared up every time he tried on a pair of contact lenses, so he had his lead engineers modify the HUD product to sync to a pair of goggles, instead of the flagship product's usual pair of contact lenses. The resulting HUD was slightly lower resolution, when viewed through the warped goggle lenses, but Freddy supposed there was always someone he could yell at to fix that before launch.

With a final "thumbs up" to his diving buddy, Freddy pushed off the side of his Gulfstream G650ER plane, and vaulted into the vast, open expanse of pale, blue, Colorado sky. Hurtling through the air, his stomach lurched for approximately three seconds before he steadied himself into a standard, "Box man," skydiving position.

As Freddy's free-fall reached its normal, terminal velocity of 115 miles-per-hour, he suddenly felt as if he were resting upon a wide, solid blanket of air. This transparent blanket overlaid a seamless landscape of earthy browns, blues, and greens. Snow-capped mountains, and reddish, rocky plateaus extended in every direction from the flat, grassy landing site, far below, and gleaming, silvery rivers carved winding paths through rocky ridges, and thick, wooded areas, towards sparkling, blue, splotches of Colorado lakes, in the distance.

Amidst this breathtaking view, Freddy did the obvious thing, and turned his attention towards using Epoch Industries' HUD to post to Twitter and Facebook. A virtual keyboard obscured his vision, as he fiddled with the long, biometric glove on his left arm. He tapped the fingers of his left hand against his palm, and wiggled them into various, funny hand gestures, in order to type out an appropriately edgy tweet. He might have simply used a voice command, had the rushing wind not been annoyingly stuffing any sound he uttered straight back into his mouth.

Thus, Freddy decided it was a perfect time to field-test Epoch Industries' newest input system, this gesturing system of semi-complex finger movements, and palm taps. Sensors in the glove detected finger positioning, and specific touches, then responded to the hand signals, as if the glove were a handy combination of a mouse and keyboard. Freddy found the gesture system to be vaguely reminiscent of simplified American Sign Language, and wondered idly what the earnings potential would be for marketing such a product to the deaf community…

Honestly, Freddy couldn't _wait_ to unveil yet another particularly impressive feature, and summarily rub it in his rivals' faces! The main selling point of Epoch Industries' Augmented Reality HUD system, thus far, was definitely the Star-Trek-worthy "smart" garment. By all appearances, the "smart" fabric of his sleeved glove lit up responsively with an interactive display screen, whenever the glove was activated. However, the interactive display wasn't truly "there" - the screen was virtual, and only visible through Epoch Industries goggles, or contacts.

Freddy was convinced that his "smart" garments were the quite profitable future of communications technology. Who needs a phone or a smart watch, when you can simply slide on some glasses, or contacts, and plug into the virtual world, unobstructed? Why fumble around with devices, when you can simply interact with your clothing, and command reality with a simple word, touch, or wave of your hand? Yes, Augmented Reality couldn't and _shouldn't_ forever consist of awkward eye movements, and users speaking to themselves - at least, that was the vision Freddy planned on passionately delivering at his next TED-talk...

Freddy had just managed to engage the HUD system's video camera, when the system stopped responding to his glove inputs. He could no longer control the video recording, and he gritted his teeth in impatience, and irritation, as he flicked the fingers of his left hand in a series of increasingly violent gestures. Ugh, whoever had thought this hand-motion gesturing system was ready for market was destined for an earful!

With a final grunt, which the 115 miles-per-hour wind promptly swatted to the back of his throat, Freddy flung his right arm over to reach for his left, in a desperate bid for the manual glove controls. The flexible, touch-screen interface was woven into the conductive glove fabric, along with several sophisticated sensor grids, and, as soon as his right hand tapped his gloved forearm, the virtual screen appeared to light up the fabric.

The good news was that Freddy successfully stopped his video recording, and attached a rather lengthy, albeit awesome, video capture to his Facebook post, with only two taps of the futuristic "smart" garment. The bad news was that Freddy was no longer in the "Box man," skydiving position, and his twisted, lopsided posture sent him spinning and rolling into a dangerous, uncontrolled free-fall.

As he hurtled towards the earth-toned canvas of a picturesque landscape not-too-far below, Freddy fought wildly to close his Facebook screen, which was currently blocking his view of the rapidly approaching ground. Instead of closing the Facebook window, however, he posted his rather long video capture, with an accompanying rather long, nonsensical string of letters and numbers. A few friends promptly replied to his post with question marks, and other witty proclamations of their confusion, but, alas, the post, and his friends' thoughtful remarks, were destined to be forever overshadowed, and forgotten, in the wake of his following post…

When the Facebook window failed to close, Freddy finally regained his vision of the world around him by quite cleverly turning the video camera back on.

He, first, became aware of his diving buddy, approximately 50 meters above. He, second, noticed that his buddy was racing towards him in a panicked, yet, controlled dive.

Judging by his buddy's urgency, he, thirdly, concluded that this was no longer the sort of dangerous situation in which Freddy Aeon always claimed to "thrive." Thus, quickly righting himself, he returned to a standard, "Box man," skydiving position, and pulled the ejection handle for his reserve parachute.

As soon as the parachute had finished inflating, however, he was immediately greeted by the alarming sight of a much-too-large, metal pole topped with a bright, orange windsock. So stunned was he, in the face of his impending collision, that, with an uncharacteristic disregard for social media, Freddy Aeon completely forgot that he was currently on camera.

His active, recording HUD camera bore witness, a few moments later, as a blustering, merciless crosswind swept him up in its wispy arms, and sealed his fate. Within mere seconds, Freddy heard a sickening crack, as his thighs collided with the metal pole. His collison at what was now a breakneck velocity of 80 miles-per-hour, instantly severed his legs from his hips. The billowing canopy of his parachute caught on the metal pole, and ripped itself free of its holsters. As he continued his westward descent, sans parachute, the blood-stained fabric remained behind, draped over the metal pole, and waving in the wind, like a macabre, replacement windsock.

However, the torn, severed chute had still managed to do its job. It slowed Freddy's fall, and altered his trajectory just enough to save his life. As he was thrown several yards west of the windsock, Freddy's diving buddy was able to swoop in at the last minute, with his fully-functional parachute, and catch Freddy's body, which was now, both fortunately, and unfortunately, approximately 70 lbs lighter. A few adrenaline-fueled seconds later, the two men slammed into the unforgiving ground, several yards shy of their designated landing zone.

Though his buddy bore the brunt of the forceful impact, Freddy's vision faded quickly to black. His expensive, biometric glove was smashed beyond all repair. However, through some quirk of touch-sensitive equipment encountering multiple, sequential, blunt collisions, Freddy Aeon's final video capture still managed to post itself to Facebook, just before his HUD flickered offline, and died.

Perhaps, unsurprisingly, in the days that followed, the resulting press surrounding the accident, the gruesome video, and the tarnished reveal of Epoch Industries' now-controversial, prototype HUD, was anything but pleasant.

Thus, on October 13, 2016, Epoch Industries stock, ironically, went into complete, utter free-fall. Both Freddy Aeon, and his company, began hurtling downwards towards their seemingly inevitable decline…

* * *

As the sun set over the Colorado mountains, on Friday, October twenty-eighth, Freddy Aeon gazed despondently from a modern, full-length window in his isolated, mansion retreat. His personal trainer, and his private doctor currently fussed over an array of metal sticks displayed elegantly on his sitting room coffee table. However, Freddy barely processed any of the mountains of information that the two men hurled at him, as they babbled on and on about the relative merits of each disappointing stick.

It had been just over two weeks, since he'd first awoken to find his legs gone, along with most of his company. He was still struggling to accept that no amount of money, nor known technology would return him to his former glory.

His competitors, and their cronies within the whirlwind media, had instilled enough doubt in his leadership abilities, as well as the safety of his Augmented Reality products, to make Epoch Industries now, effectively, a pariah of the tech industry. Freddy Aeon, himself, was now known to the world as a fallen giant, a depressed amputee, and a billionaire recluse.

The video of his demise, delivered from his own Facebook page, nonetheless, had gone viral, and… oh, yes, the internet had remained "sick" for days. He awoke to a clamoring media storm of supporters and haters alike, as they dissected, judged, and, in some cases, even mockingly narrated, every second of what must surely have been the worst day of his otherwise extraordinary existence. Social media, which he had previously followed so religiously, now brought him nothing but intense hatred and disgust.

"What do you think, Freddy?" inquired his doctor, with his unnerving, much-too-chummy bedside, or, in this case, chair-side, manner.

The man was holding a sleek, black prosthetic leg to his side, posing with it, like a glorified showgirl. A flesh-colored, plastic shell wrapped halfway around a shapely, metallic calf and thigh. Accented by the shiny, polished metal, the stick looked quite futuristic, and it would probably have appealed to Freddy on some technophilic level, before his accident.

He'd often admired the high-tech, weaponized limbs sported by robots, cyber-punks, and other "bad-ass" science fiction characters. On several occasions, he had even boasted about how one day he'd replace his boring, human parts with sexy, artificial ones.

He now knew, however, that those off-hand comments were nothing but foolish, ignorant whimsies on his part. Indeed, the absence of his limbs _haunted_ him, following him around, like an ever-present ghost in the room… With every glance down his torso, every forgetful attempt to stand, he mourned his legs. He mourned them with an insurmountable grief of which he, _stone-hearted_ Freddy Aeon, had never known he was capable.

He'd, of course, already been through some of the best therapy that money could buy. Yet, no therapist offered him true relief - only acceptance and consolation. And, no, Freddy Aeon, youthful CEO, and Founder of Epoch Industries had never been a man who _accepted_ consolation prizes. But, now… he had to admit that Freddy Aeon no longer had any earthly idea who "Freddy Aeon" even _was_ anymore…

"We're done for the day. Thank you, gentlemen - you know your way out," Freddy stated in a voice cold, and detached.

The expensive prosthetic legs would probably fool idle onlookers, at first, or maybe even second, or third glance, but everyone already knew Freddy as "that CEO who lost his legs." In a world filled with media sensationalism, his most traumatic memory had now become his biggest claim to fame. His brand, his vision for Epoch Industries, and the future, had been irreparably damaged, just as surely as his legs. He had once been on top of the world, and now he was… here.

"Come on, Freddy - don't be like that, man," boomed the deep, bass voice of his personal trainer.

The muscular man's head looked comically small, perched on top of his thick neck, which matched the broad, bulky mass that was the rest of his body. Despite his abundant, rock-hard muscle, however, the man wasn't the least bit intimidating, or threatening. He looked especially soft, and docile ,now, as the upswept arches of his eyebrows furrowed over a pair of large, round, "puppy dog" eyes.

Freddy had been surprised to learn that his personal trainer was qualified to assist clients with physical therapy, and not just CrossFit or weight training. However, he'd recently decided to terminate the man's employment… See, Freddy no longer had any desire to work on a six-pack, or spend time around an exceptional athlete, who constantly reminded him of everything he _used to be_ capable of doing.

Standing next to the bulky personal trainer, Freddy's lanky doctor wore a mixed expression of panic, and reproach, as he flipped through files in his brown, leather briefcase, and retrieved a fancy, folded brochure. The doctor, then, held it out to Freddy, presenting it, once more, in an awkward, showgirl fashion.

"Look, Freddy, we've even got these cutting-edge, silicon covers to skin the prosthetic frames…" he began, tapping his finger about the pages of the brochure, pointedly drawing attention to all the smiling people with life-like legs, "We can even add a subtle texture to make it feel just like -"

"OUT!" shouted Freddy, overcome with the building, runaway rage that came to him all-too-easily these days.

As the two men stood frozen in shock, Freddy moved to spin the wheels of his wheelchair into motion, and, thus, roll dramatically away. However, his left hand slipped, and he ended up catching his finger between the rubber tire, and the metal tire rim, instead. He growled in frustration, as he carefully pried his finger free, and settled his hands, and throbbing pointer finger, back onto the rubber wheels for a second attempt. Both of his "caregivers" moved to assist him, but Freddy glared daggers in their direction, and the men quietly collected their things from the coffee table, and hurriedly exited the room.

With a deep sigh, Freddy relaxed his arms, and returned to gazing out of his glass window, a window so large that it was more accurately described as a glass _wall_ , braced by the irregular, black metal frame of his ultra-modern mansion. He watched numbly as both of his visitors climbed into their respective cars, and sped away down a shady, mountain road, which led to a distant security gate.

Even though the government was far less enthusiastic about working with him now, they hadn't revoked _all_ of his contracts, so Freddy had quickly installed top-notch security in his new home to protect the sensitive Research and Development work he planned on bringing to the underground levels of his forested hideaway. Infrared motion sensors connected to the 360-degree camera surveillance, which protected the mansion grounds, while sophisticated bio-scanners, reinforced blast doors, and advanced alarm systems protected the mansion interior, especially the interior sub-levels. At this point, the perimeter wall, which was topped with an electrified fence, and traversable only through two guarded entry points, seemed like complete overkill.

Given his newfound dislike of interacting with other people, he had forgone hiring staff, aside from an elderly nurse, and a few security guards for the gates, instead favoring this assembly of high-tech equipment, which he hoped the government would find up-to-code. He would have much preferred to rely _completely_ on technology, but the few security guards he'd hired never came past the perimeter grounds, anyway, and he begrudgingly admitted that his company would be more productive with at least _a few_ fully-functional human bodies around to keep their work safe.

See, all guilt, grief, and anger aside, Freddy was still a practical businessman, and he knew, however sore the subject, that he needed to remodel the company's logistics to focus more on his own accessibility concerns. Yes, if he was going to properly micro-manage his company, and its projects, he couldn't do so from afar. His former headquarters was much too public, and far less accessible than he had previously believed.

Thus, Freddy had essentially bought a mountain, and relocated to its more private, secluded peak. Here, the only necessary human presences he'd have to endure would be those of his most-trusted employees. With nearly an hour's drive to the nearest, small, Colorado mining town, even _the Paparazzi_ had grown bored of trekking to Freddy's house.

A sudden chill swept through the sitting room, and Freddy shivered in his wheelchair, as he watched fluffy, white snowflakes begin to float rapidly towards the ground, just outside his glass window.

 _The locals assured me we wouldn't see snow until mid-November… Ugh! People are so damn unreliable…_ he thought angrily, before fearfully considering what ice and snow would mean for a lone man in a wheelchair, living on a mountain, nonetheless.

His considerations were short-lived, however, as he realized, with a start, that the snow was falling in only one specific spot - and it wasn't outside. Beneath the dim moonlight, the view of the world outside was now cloaked almost completely in darkness. Thus, the well-lit sitting room, and its bright, sparkling, white snowflakes were reflected quite clearly in the dark glass.

A snowy cloud clung to a patch of ceiling directly behind him, and small flurries of flakes issued spontaneously from its bulk. However, it wasn't his leaky ceiling that set his heart hammering against his chest - it was the lean, dark, female figure, which the indoor weather seemed to gather around.

Clothed in black from her strange, pointed hat to her boot-clad toes, the fluttering snowflakes speckled her form-fitting ensemble in staunch black-and-white contrast. Shallow boot prints lay embedded in a frosty trail that led from the fireplace to the woman, who held, in her right hand, an open bottle from which rose a swirling fountain of ethereal, white mist. Oddly, her face was not visible in the reflective glass, but he could tell by the angle of her hat that she was glancing around the room, and then down at the small mounds of snow collecting at her feet.

His security system had _obviously_ failed him, and now he certainly wished there were actual, live security guards nearby to call upon… Ugh, how could one woman possibly beat his entire security system? Was she alone?

The trail of snow led back to the boxy mantle of the contemporary fireplace... He had not overlooked the possibility of a fireplace-based attack - the fireplace was one of the least modern features in the mansion, after all, and had required some special consideration.

She couldn't possibly have fit down the chimney, though. The narrow dimensions of the first two-thirds of the chimney would barely fit an infant! Not that Freddy cared to entertain such morbid thoughts… Even his heart wasn't _that_ stony! Anyway, thanks to a series of heavy-duty, infrared sensors, a pair of blast doors on either end of the chimney securely sealed it off from the interior of the house, whenever the fire in the hearth was extinguished.

 _But, wait… Wasn't there a fire roaring in the grate just a few minutes ago? And now there's snow…_ he thought, flitting through various possible explanations, _No way, no way - the human body would still emit too much heat to be adequately cloaked by snow... right?_

His musings over thermal sensors, and their corresponding sensitivity margins, were quickly derailed by a series of much more pressing, obvious questions. How on Earth was she making it snow indoors? And, more importantly, _what the hell_ did this woman want from him? Freddy found that the default answer to that question was usually money. He had never been particularly skilled at reading women, but he found that money usually worked…

"Who the hell are you?! What do you want?! How did you get in here?!" shouted Freddy eloquently, as he desperately tried to swivel in his wheelchair.

In his haste, however, he toppled out of the stubborn wheelchair, and planted his face painfully against the floor. As he scrambled to push himself into a more dignified position, the faceless woman stepped forward, and paused mid-crouch.

"Err - would you like some assistance, Mr. Aeon?" she inquired kindly, in a voice carefully devoid of pity.

Freddy was momentarily grateful for the trespasser's consideration, before quickly reminding himself that she had just broken into his house, and was the very reason he now lay face-planted upon the floor. With a considerable amount of effort, he angrily rolled onto his side, and propped himself up on one elbow. Then, glaring up at the… at the…

As if there weren't already enough baffling questions surrounding this mysterious stranger, Freddy was shocked to discover that the woman's faceless reflection had _not_ been a trick of the light. Indeed, she was headless. There was a headless woman standing in his snowy sitting room. There was a headless hat floating mid-air, atop her absentee head.

Now, Freddy had seen plenty of scientific miracles in his time, scientific feats of every confidential security classification level, but this situation was truly bizarre. However, he didn't lie there, gaping, any longer than a second or two. To his credit, Freddy was a man, who kept his wits about him even when all logic seemed to have left the building. Yes, he had to admit to himself that this woman was, indeed, "throwing him for a loop," but, hey, he was no stranger to roller-coasters, or any other adrenaline-junkie pastimes, for that matter.

"No! I don't need your _help_! You - you broke into my house! If anyone needs help, it's _you_ \- legal help, that is."

The woman deepened her squat, and then dropped one knee gently to the floor. From the tilt of her hat, he could tell that she must be staring directly at him. Gazing into the empty void where her face should be, he struggled to hold his face in a scowl. She didn't particularly sound like a hardened criminal, and he felt his best hope for survival lay in leveraging the intimidation factor that came with celebrity.

"I tell you what - I'm feeling generous today," Freddy lied, employing the no-nonsense tone he frequently used for negotiations, "If you tell me how you managed to break in here, I'll let you leave, before I call the cops, and press charges."

If the woman sheltered even a seed of doubt, in that invisible brain of hers, maybe, just maybe, he could cultivate it into a seedling of guilt… However, both he and the woman knew, surely, that there was _no way_ Freddy would make it to a phone, even at a fast crawl. His expensive cellphone currently resided, in plain sight, on the much-too-tall coffee table, and he currently had no access to his futuristic communication system, as no other "smart" garments had made it through production, since the recent destruction of their only prototype.

He silently cursed his own lack of preparation. Still in the process of moving his residence, and company, he had yet to adjust his usually-stringent security precautions to accommodate his new… handicap.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Aeon, but I couldn't risk anyone else finding out about this meeting. Secrecy is my top priority, right now, and there's no room for middle-men," she stated quite ominously, as she rested one hand upon her bent knee, and extended the other towards him, palm upturned, "I chose you, Mr. Aeon, because you have, perhaps, the most to gain of anyone, and... if your reputation is to be believed, you are a man who isn't afraid of taking risks to achieve greatness."

 _Ah, yes. Flattery will get you everywhere…_ thought Freddy humorously.

Even when the motives behind a compliment were obvious, it was still quite flattering to be considered important enough for attempted brownnosing. He never said no to a good ego-stroking, and, hey, he had never claimed to be humble. Humility was simply for those, who didn't know how to play the game.

Freddy was a businessman, and he not only knew how the game was played - he never settled for less than a ranked position on the game's leader-board. Ah, even when faced with a faceless opponent, the familiar charm of business deals, nuanced negotiations, and superficial discussions of personal gain, put Freddy into his sweet, comfort zone.

"I'm a busy man, lady. I only take risks that are worth my time. What exactly do you think _you_ have to offer _me_?"

The woman leaned back, shifting her weight onto her heels, as she scoffed in surprise, "What? You mean to tell me, spontaneous weather, invisibility, and bypassing advanced security protocols are of no interest to you?"

Freddy had to admit that she had him there... He'd seen plenty of attempts to achieve the phenomena of weather control, and invisibility, and, of course, there was always a market for breaching other people's security measures, but he'd never seen someone wield such sophisticated versions, and all at once, nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, you've got my attention... Let's say I'm interested... What secret deal is worth the risk of breaking into _my_ home?" Freddy asked, as he gave an involuntary shiver.

The indoor cloud had followed the strange woman, drifting across the ceiling to finally hover over the patch of marble tiling, where she knelt next to Freddy. Stray flecks of snow periodically blew into Freddy's face, and onto his expensive dress shirt, while bursts of icy wind, and nippy snow flurries, scratched his nose and cheeks a raw red, and set his squinting eyes watering.

"Mr. Aeon, there really is no risk," the woman said confidently, the smug curl of an invisible grin evident in her tone, "I'm here to offer you a deal that you can't possibly refuse."

* * *

 _Tap-tap Tap-tap_

Alexandra Austin lifted her head slightly from her plush, poke-ball-shaped pillow, and gazed past her feet towards the currently-occupied windowpane of her fifth floor studio apartment. With a groan, she slumped back into her nerdy assortment of novelty cushions, before unceremoniously hoisting her legs over the side of the comfy couch, and onto the cold, hardwood floor below. Then, after shoving her bare feet into a pair of Tribble slippers, which were grossly mismatched with her current, Dark Jedi hoodie, she heaved herself into an upright, standing position, and shuffled over to the window.

A small, grey, screeching owl hopped impatiently about the windowsill, rapping its beak against the glass, and rustling a wing every few seconds, as if it were checking its invisible watch. Grey and white facial feathers swept into a pointed tuft on either side of the owl's miniature head, like two large, bushy eyebrows. This lent the owl a rather stern expression, as if it were scolding Lex with a crass _I'm on a schedule, miss_.

Clasped within its curved beak was a plain, white envelope, inked with some familiar, cursive scrawl. This was, perhaps, the fourth owl-bound message Lex had received within the past 24 hours, and, yet, it was still two owls less than she'd received the previous day, and four owls more than she cared to receive today. It didn't matter that they'd saved a tree, and sent the same enveloped parchment back and forth throughout the entirety of their correspondence, because she _still_ had to bother with creaky windows, dirty coins, and owl poop, every damn night. Ugh, yes, witches and wizards _desperately_ needed to invent a magical cellphone.

She supposed she shouldn't complain, as the now-frequent avian visitors were largely her fault. But, really, it was just her luck that an attractive guy would decide to pursue her at possibly the most inconvenient time imaginable...

Auror Seth Roman had, of course, been true to his word, and proceeded to contact her, within a day of their first meeting. He was attempting to coordinate an appropriate place and time for their next "date," and Lex was purposely stalling. She figured that if she made scheduling as difficult as possible, perhaps, he'd just give up, and leave her alone. If nothing else, it'd at least buy her some time.

Lex flipped the latch, and slid open her rickety window. As it was a "historical" apartment building, the aged wood creaked against the glass with an unsettling moan. Before the fussy owl could nip her, or fly in, and poop on her floor, Lex quickly snatched the well-worn letter from the owl's clutches, and deposited a quarter in the leather pouch attached to its leg. Ripping the letter from its envelope, she hastily skimmed its contents, sighed, and scribbled a reply with the pen she now kept next to the window. After sealing the folded parchment into its envelope once more, Lex handed the letter back to the impatient owl, and absently rubbed a sore spot on her thumb, where a previous avian visitor had made its displeasure known.

When her very first owl had arrived at approximately 5PM on the evening of the 24th, it had found Lex quite startled, and confused. After briefly admiring the small bird's speckled feather coat, she hesitantly cracked open her window, and allowed the owl to hop inside. The situation only grew more confusing for her, however, when the owl flew across the room, dropped a letter from its clutched talons, and perched expectantly on the kitchen counter.

She, at first, kept her distance from the strange bird, but, eventually drew closer to investigate its cargo. As she peered over the countertop at the plain, white envelope, and recognized Seth's tiny, cursive penscript scrawled across the envelope's front, the tiny owl began screeching insistently.

Since she didn't speak owl, she decided to investigate the mysterious letter, which was likely to prove the more easily understood method of communication. Removing the envelope's contents, and unfolding a thin sheet of parchment, Lex hastily read the brief message, which was impeccably penned in dark blue ink.

 _Dear Lex,_

 _I apologize again for the abrupt end to our last date. I can promise you my full attentions for our impending dinner date._

 _I understand, per our last conversation, that you have no significant dietary restrictions, so might I suggest an evening at The Constellation?_

 _If this is agreeable to you, please send me your address, or the closest Floo point, and I will pick you up promptly at 19:00 tomorrow evening._

 _I look forward to our next meeting._

 _Yours,_

 _Seth_

With a huff, Lex threw the letter onto the countertop, and went in search of a pen. She wasn't sure if she was more irritated by this continuing risk to her identity, and, thus, her safety, the fact that Seth was starting to address her informally, as "Lex," or the way that she found herself semi-enjoying his "attentions." Returning to the kitchen counter, finally, with a black inkpen, Lex pushed any romantic notions aside, and scribbled a polite, non-committal response.

Once she had proofread her work, and confirmed that Seth would be properly informed of her sudden need to run some errands, which absolutely _needed_ to be done tomorrow night, she slipped the folded parchment back into its envelope, and placed it gingerly in front of the stone-faced owl.

A few awkward, silent seconds later, the owl still hadn't budged. She figured she would try lifting the envelope to its beak, in case it really was just _that_ lazy. When she reached for the envelope, however, the owl swiftly nipped at her thumb, before hopping over the letter, and shaking its left leg in her direction. It was then that Lex noticed a small leather pouch, hanging from a harness on the owl's left leg.

She finally understood why there was an entire set of bookshelves at Flourish & Fontaine dedicated to owls… Though she was slightly disturbed to encounter such an intelligent, communicative animal, she decided to table all the ethical considerations that came with _that_ particular insight for a later date - preferably a date, when there wasn't this wee, winged visitor "throwing shade" in her direction. Instead, she began frantically searching her kitchen for some form of payment for the bird. Owls eat meat, right? After throwing open a kitchen cabinet or two, Lex retrieved a slice of raw bacon from the refrigerator, and held it out to the bird.

Really, the owl's feathery "eyebrows" left its face much too expressive. The no-nonsense owl narrowed its lamp-like eyes, and glared past the bacon, meeting her hopeful gaze with its own piercing stare. Its message was abundantly clear, and Lex could practically hear the word ' _idiot_ ' hidden within its next irritable squawk.

Ripping a paper-towel strip from a nearby dispenser, she settled the greasy, bacon strip on the counter, and carefully wiped her fingertips clean, as she racked her brain for another possible solution. Perhaps, this wasn't Seth's personal owl, but a mail service owl requiring payment?

Ugh, she was still just as dragot-less as she had been the previous day, and, as far as she knew, the Bank of the Fae was still unavailable for currency conversion. The best she could do was give the owl some no-maj money, and hope it could be converted by someone on the other end of the owl's mail route.

First, she rolled up an old, crumpled one-dollar bill, and stuffed it into the owl's little pouch. She was promptly met with a shrill shriek.

 _Okay, perhaps, one dollar isn't enough…_ she thought, and hastily stuffed a five-dollar bill in next to the one.

After a second shrill shriek, Lex reconsidered, _Okay, okay… not six dollars either… Geez, how expensive is it to have your snail mail delivered by cute, magical birds?! Hmm… Perhaps, the owl wants a tip?_

Lex hurriedly attempted to calculate a reasonable gratuity for a working bird, evaluating whether or not owl tips would be closer to the standard percentages of a human bartender's tip, or a wait-staff tip. Was 10 percent acceptable for normal service? Furthermore, what was the norm for owl customer service, anyway?

She had finally decided that the owl service was more than adequate for her first experience, and that she'd simply double her six-dollar offering and be done with it, when the grey owl shrieked in frustration, reached its beak into the leather pouch, and, then, dismissively threw her dollar bills across the countertop.

"Hey! Come on! I was about to give you a tip!" she groaned, as the owl flapped its wings in an aggravated dance, "What do you want, huh? How about some coins? They're kind of like dragots…"

Lex unzipped the side of her wallet, and shook an assortment of no-maj coins out onto her palm. First, she selected two quarters. However, she had barely extended her palm, when the bird released a curt, warning shriek.

"Okay, is that not enough?" she asked anxiously, as she added another quarter, and the owl shrieked again.

"Umm… alright… let's see… I've got a few nickels, and dimes, here…" she began, but was cut short, as the owl, at last, hopped over, pecked a single quarter from her hand, clawed the letter off the counter, and flew out the open window in a huff.

Needless to say, after that first visit, Lex's fascination with the magical owl service quickly lost its fantastic appeal - especially, when, later that night, she found herself prematurely buying groceries from a nearby drug store, just to pay the flippin' owl. Yes, getting change for a ten was truly bizarre, when you knew the proceeds were going to fund an owl-bound correspondence with a snoopy, wizard policeman.

After her awkward encounter with the owl, she spent several hours delving through her secret photo gallery, which documented the wizarding books she'd scanned at Flourish & Fontaine. From the short snippets of information she was able to find on the subject, she discovered that she could at least expect a welcome respite from the owl visits during daylight hours. Owls only delivered mail during the day under the most dire of circumstances.

There were several interesting examples of such dire times, but Lex was most interested in one of the more recent occurrences. Apparently, in the early eighties, owl mail created quite the stir one day, when the entire wizarding world simultaneously disregarded the no-owls-in-the-daytime rule. In the resulting pandemonium, even non-magicals noticed the unusual owl activity, and the unusual owls were featured in a news story on the BBC.

Magicals were, of course, dreadfully concerned by the owls' ten minutes of no-maj TV fame, and, thus, declared the event to be a "dangerously" close call with a breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Lex, however, felt that the out-of-touch magicals must not have realized that 1980's no-maj were far too concerned with the "Comies," and Madonna's latest photoshoot, to dwell on some boring owl flight patterns.

Nevertheless, while the no-maj of the Eighties fawned over Steve Jobs' new-fangled "personal computer," full parliaments of owls took to the skies, carrying celebratory news. The whole magical community was rejoicing, because some dangerous, dark wizard, with a horrible name, had been killed by an infant. Lex wasn't sure if she should be more afraid of this dark wizard, who apparently hated no-maj, or the baby, who managed to kill him from the cradle. Ultimately, she made a mental note to be wary of baby wizards, and focused, instead, on reveling in the peaceful, daylight hours, which would be blissfully free of snippy owls.

As Wednesday evening's fourth owl flew away with her conciliatory reply, Lex took comfort in the knowledge that she'd sent her last owl for a good, long while. She'd bought herself a mere three days of delay, but she felt it was as much as could be expected, when dealing with someone as persistent as Seth Roman. Standing there, like an identity-confused pre-teen, in her Tribble slippers, and Dark Jedi hoodie, she finally conceded to his date demands, and agreed to meet Seth at The Constellation on Saturday evening. Fortunately, this meant she still had two full days left to set her current plan into motion.

Right now, uninterrupted, owl-free time was essential, as Lex was in the middle of some extremely important research, and wouldn't tolerate any more distractions. After the bombing of the Bank of the Fae, and the realization that her access to the magical world was probably temporary, Lex shifted her focus to uncovering, and, ultimately, replicating the mechanisms of her mysterious transformation.

Her working hypothesis was that her resurrection as a squib was a direct result of Goldstein's questionable blood transfusion. However, she, unfortunately, neither possessed, nor had access to, the necessary resources and equipment for testing such a theory, or performing the extreme medical procedures that were likely to follow. Thus, she had concluded that she was in _desperate_ need of a business partner.

 _Too bad I can't tell Will…_ Lex thought bitterly, as she cast a wary glance at her cellphone.

Amidst her post-bombing exhaustion, Sunday night had become such a tired blur that Lex could hardly remember returning home. She had wished Seth good night, walked away from The Bloody Banshee, and then awoken from a nightmare, covered in sweat, the following afternoon.

On the pillow next to her, lay a plain, white sheet of printer paper, which she had apparently removed from her front door the night before, as she was lumbering mindlessly towards her bed. The message _CALL ME_ was written angrily in thick, black Sharpie on the flimsy page, and a sticky strip of tape remained, where Will must have attached the paper to her front door.

Unfortunately, the simple message came with a deadline. Approximately ten seconds after Lex finally processed that she needed to call Will, a loud knock summoned her to the front door. Will stood, with his arms crossed, in the doorway. An affronted expression crossed his features, as he appraised Lex, and found her spontaneously healed, and relatively coherent. Henceforth, none of Lex's trippy, nonsensical explanations could soothe the building tremors of tension and rage, which emanated from him, like a palpable pulse, and, as far as catastrophic conversations go, the ensuing, explosive argument reached an easy 10 on the Richter Scale.

A couple of silent days later, Lex had accepted that it was now _her_ turn to be ignored by Will. And, rightfully so… As much as it hurt her that he wouldn't return her calls, she knew that she couldn't make him, or his feelings, a priority at the moment. So, perhaps, it was for the best that she distance herself from her no-maj friends, for the time being, and focus, instead, on finding and approaching the best possible no-maj benefactor…

Unfortunately, the usual avenues for business fund-raising were far too public. Even if Lex could find a way to pitch to investors without sounding like a complete and utter loon, she seriously doubted that she, a relative nobody, could successfully raise enough starting capital without all of her secrets leaking out to MACUSA, in the process. Likewise, any application for government funding would pass through multiple hands, or "leak points." The entire process would be stifled by so much paperwork, and bureaucracy that MACUSA would reach her long before the government gave her so much as an ETA. Honestly, she would probably end up waiting for so long that she'd have _already forgotten_ by the time the Obliviators were finally tipped off, and came to drag her memories away…

Of course, who was to say the government didn't _already_ know about magic? Lex wasn't much of a conspiracy theorist, but she could see how an understanding might have developed between some well-placed members of the no-maj government, and MACUSA. A large organization always had countless members, and countless systems in place, and, thus, countless potential weak links, and weak points at which plans could go horribly wrong. Even if MACUSA _hadn't_ penetrated the no-maj government on an institutional level, she could still end up betrayed to MACUSA by a few, autonomous infiltrators.

Indeed, she needed to be careful not to walk herself into a trap… How could she even trust a large organization, like the government, not to steal her research, or push her out of the fold? Because, if, by some miracle, a research funding application _wasn't_ so revealing that it immediately got her caught, a large organization, government or private, had access to experts of practically every field, and would surely have little use for someone like her.

Yes, the more Lex mulled it over, the clearer the solution became - she needed to find an independent agent. Far more than a large organization, Lex felt that she could trust a wealthy, well-connected individual, with, most significantly, abundant personal motivation to keep them both uncaught, and in control.

Thus, Lex soon found herself poring through all the celebrity gossip, financial reports, and business news that she'd spent her entire young life trying to ignore.

With an exasperated groan, Lex irritably tossed the October issue of _Business Insider_ onto the coffee table, where it skid to a rest, beside a special issue of _Forbes Magazine_. She supposed that many people would be ecstatic to have an opportunity to meet, and potentially work with, such affluent individuals, but Lex was sickened by the mere thought. Perhaps, it was wrong to hold such a bias, but she couldn't seem to suppress her own feelings of scornful revulsion. For better or worse, she felt strongly that celebrities, and "rich folk" represented exactly the kind of greed, materialism, and superficiality she had come to despise.

She already knew that working with some "benefactor" was going to take some serious restraint, tact, and self-discipline on her part. As far as she was concerned, such ugly, mundane, human failings as selfishness and greed had already corrupted the non-magical world, and had no place in a world full of magic. But, unfortunately, money, and the greedy people that worshipped it, were a necessary evil, at the moment. Indeed, if she wanted to retain her access to magic, she first needed to obtain _resources_ far above her current pay-grade. Her employer was being quite generous with paid medical leave, after the accident, but her salary was still rather better suited to ordering occasional lab-work at the doctor's office, than ordering an entire, well-stocked, well-staffed lab…

Clicking, and opening, a thirty-third tab in the already-crowded browser window of her laptop screen, Lex scanned yet another article on a ridiculously wealthy businessperson. Ugh, there were almost too many factors to consider! Her search was quickly becoming an impossible balancing act.

For one, the higher profile the individual, the more resources they had at their disposal, but the more difficult it would be to keep their involvement secret. Yet, if the individual was disgraced, or had otherwise fallen on hard times, they might be more motivated to assist Lex, but they might also be simultaneously more motivated to brag, or otherwise risk their magical secret, in order to redeem themself in the eyes of others.

Likewise, if she approached a wealthy scientist, or professor, they would undoubtedly be tempted to publish their findings. With a discovery of this magnitude, Lex could hardly blame a fellow scientist for wanting to "slap their name on it," but she knew a more pragmatic partner was needed right now - if for no other reason, than to keep her own overzealous personality in check. She'd already bumbled her way through enough near-catastrophes, thanks, and, hey, there was only room for one impulsive, mad scientist in _this_ laboratory. This magical fellowship of hers was already fully-saturated with crazy, and Lex was sure that if she added any more spontaneity to the mix, this crazy experiment was sure to explode…

For a short while, Lex had entertained the idea of seeking out an occult enthusiast, or a collector of supposedly magical objects, because who would be more motivated to delve into magic than someone who was already trying? And, yet, thirty-two tabs later, Lex had finally realized that any occult experts, or secret societies worthy of the term 'secret' would _not_ be purporting themselves on Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn… And, though, yes, there was always the anonymous, ominous "Dark Web," she wasn't quite ready to open that particularly questionable can of worms…

Even if Lex could find some sort of "sponsorship" from an occult group, she would have to contend with a whole host of new problems. A secret society would come complete with a whole new set of quirky, magical rituals and beliefs - and at least some of those were _bound_ to be wrong. As an outsider, it would be far too difficult to keep all of the society's members in check, especially when it came to trying to keep them from going public. After enduring years of teasing for their "crazy" beliefs, surely, at least one of their number would feel the need to wave about their new, tangible proof, and validate themselves in the eyes of the world.

So, finally, with a deep sigh, Lex abruptly snapped her laptop shut, and set it down on the magazine-covered coffee table. Ugh! Although the window-tapping owl menace was finally defeated, she was still no closer to finding the right ally for her no-maj rebellion…

 _Bleep_.

Despite her lethargy, Lex snapped to attention the moment her phone bleeped, and vaulted into the pile of pillows stacked along the left arm of the couch. Lex hung her torso awkwardly over the couch arm, as her outstretched arms grasped eagerly at her smartphone, which was currently charging on a powerstrip against the wall. She was trying, and failing, to fight back her hopes that Will had finally deigned to speak with her again. Really, at this point, she'd even welcome another verbal thrashing, if it meant they could be on speaking terms again…

But, alas, as she pressed the power button, her smartphone screen merely lit to display a notification, which advertised an unexciting news story. A newsfeed feature on her Android phone routinely delivered a variety of news headlines as push notifications, and Lex had become such a recluse in recent months that it was, honestly, one of the only ways she stayed up-to-date with current events anymore.

Hanging over the side of the couch, with her rear-end poking into the air, Lex suddenly felt _slightly_ ridiculous. Of course, Will hadn't forgiven her… and hadn't she just resolved to distance herself from him, anyway? Deciding not to let her mad dash to the phone be in vain, she summarily unplugged her phone, and lifted her torso back over the side of the couch. Then, slumping into a semi-decent sitting position against the pile of cushions, Lex tapped the pending notification, and skimmed through the article titled _New Legs for Freddy Aeon?_

Approximately twenty minutes later, Lex was well on her way to becoming an expert on the eccentric Freddy Aeon, a CEO turned tragic celebrity. Her obsessive web searches were rapidly filling her search history, and likely ruining the Google metrics for her future search recommendations, but, hey, Lex needed to collect as much information as possible, and analyze every possible facet of this man's personality - if it meant Google and YouTube recommended celebrity gossip in place of cute animals videos for awhile, so be it.

Freddy Nebula Aeon, formerly known as Frederick Takeshi Van der Wees, was the man behind numerous successful tech products, startups, and, of course, the famous Epoch Industries, formerly known as one of the big names in the fledgling Augmented Reality field. Aside from a couple of messy divorces with a vapid model or two, Freddy hadn't personally been under much media scrutiny until a particularly gruesome accident, which cost him both of his legs. The tragic skydiving accident had, of course, garnered full media coverage, and, after a video documenting the entire event was scooped up by celebrity news networks, it had suddenly become everyone's business to know this businessman's business.

Ugh, the sheer disregard for this man's privacy was staggering! When viewers had, apparently, become exhausted by the endless frame-by-frame analysis of the equipment involved, and all the speculation over the identity, and safety, of the prototype device he used, reporters began digging into the details of his relationship with his estranged parents. Before you could say _And how do you feel about that_ , lesser news anchors were inviting psychologists onto their shows to question his sanity, evaluate his personal relationships, and speculate whether or not the accident was actually a suicide attempt, a publicity stunt, or a desperate cry for help. After his ex-wives, a few disgruntled employees, and some enterprising YouTubers had all thrown in their two cents, the media storm mercifully subsided, and the story was drowned out by the overwhelming news coverage of the upcoming presidential election.

However, Freddy Aeon had reached the Eye of the Storm much too late… Epoch Industries stocks had plummeted. Several investors had pulled their support, after the safety of his upcoming product was called into question, and several more, when his capabilities, and future as CEO were called into question. Even more unrecoverable, however, was the loss of Freddy's marketability for covert, government projects. Thanks to a thread full of overzealous Reddit users, a recent deal with a certain, clandestine arm of the government was thrown, kicking and screaming, into the limelight. Needless to say, the loss of the contract for that now-disavowed project must certainly have hurt Freddy's stock options…

Yes, Lex could hardly believe it, but she actually found herself feeling sorry for an unfortunate billionaire. As he was so fresh-off-the-press, Lex might have simply continued feeling sorry for him, and resumed her search, were it not for the first article she had read about him, _New Legs for Freddy Aeon?_

The article had described a recent meeting between Freddy and a celebrity doctor, in which Freddy had reportedly thrown a prosthetic leg at the man, and driven him from his home, in a temperamental rage. An anonymous source commented on his recent secretive behavior, reluctance to accept his fate, his high-tech home, and his paranoia with home security. It wasn't much to go off of, but Lex felt that she had finally found the perfect candidate.

Freddy was, by all estimates, "filthy rich," socially isolated, and accustomed to managing highly-technical, and highly-sensitive operations. Most importantly, he had experience with covert projects, and had a vested interest in staying out of the limelight. He would most likely see this as his "comeback," but if he ever sought to redeem himself, it certainly wouldn't be accomplished by exposing yet another covert project he had sworn to conceal. However, if for some crazy reason, a scandalous blow to his reputation wasn't motivation enough, his dedication to silence could be assured by the one thing that Lex, and magic, could offer him that no investor, celebrity doctor, or media outlet ever could - real legs, _his_ legs.

Yes, Lex had experienced firsthand the wondrous, impossible capabilities of healing magic. If it could restore her mangled body, as it metaphorically dangled over the precipice of death, she was certain that there was a miraculous, magical recovery just waiting for Freddy Aeon.

Aeon's cyber security team had scrubbed any mention of Freddy's home address from the web, but Lex was still able to glean his general location from a mirror of the original article, an old property listing, and a series of obnoxious, paparazzi photos. Perhaps, Lex had simply outsmarted his team, or, perhaps, it simply wasn't that difficult to pinpoint someone's address, when they literally owned a mountain. Either way, Lex quickly established that Freddy's hideout was, ironically, next to Witcher Mountain, which was only a few miles down the single, curved road from Guffey. Guffey, Colorado was a small town in the Freshwater mining district, with a population of approximately 100 residents.

However, Lex knew that tracking the hermit to his cave was only half the battle - how on _Earth_ was she going to reach him? Gaining an audience with a man like Freddy was no mean feat for a woman like herself, someone who only graced a VIP list, when it was a paid-for bottle service at your average club. _Legally_ contacting Freddy without first running an inevitable gauntlet of hardcore middle-men was simply out of the question, and doing it with her secrets intact was - Arthur C. Clarke, forgive her - impossible.

Lex's stomach squirmed at the notion, but if there were no _strictly_ _legal_ avenues of attack, she supposed she must resort to _legally questionable_ ones. Since the vast majority of Lex' life had not, in fact, been spent plotting criminal activity, or clandestine operations, for that matter, she was immediately reduced to considering Hollywood's advice on stealth, and intrigue.

 _Err… perhaps, I can corner him at some event? Like, maybe, he has a favorite hiking spot, or a gym class, or - Oh, gosh, Lex, that's horrible! Bad, Lex, bad! No, no, maybe a local theatre, or a diner…_ she thought seriously, before finally accepting that the entire premise was unlikely.

If Freddy Aeon wanted to participate in community activities, he wouldn't have moved to an isolated mountain, near a town with a population lower than the closest highway number. After all, the whole point of being reclusive was to avoid other people… Furthermore, she doubted a famous billionaire would travel anywhere without security personnel, and she doubted even more that she would be able to get anywhere near him.

No, she would never get close to him as Alexandra Austin, so, perhaps, she should become someone else, instead? The man was too tech-savvy for her to show up at his doorstep, offering to fix the plumbing or cable, but there was already a precedent for Freddy inviting health professionals into his home, so, perhaps, a crafty impersonation _was_ in order… Who should she impersonate, though?

Freddy already had his own private medical staff, and it felt ethically icky to take advantage of his recent medical condition, anyway - not to mention, the deception probably wouldn't endear herself to him. She had personally experienced the hopeless vulnerability dispatched by a grievous accident. Her body had betrayed her, leaving her helpless in what she believed to be her last few moments, and, as she had faded, there was nothing left but the trust she placed in the hospital staff. Lex absolutely refused to betray that fragile trust of Freddy's.

Alternatively, there was always the possibility of posing as some sort of reporter, but, really, that would only work in a movie. Freddy was bound to have some sort of publicity team that would verify Lex's identity, and her alleged press status, among other things. Furthermore, there was no guarantee that she'd be left alone with Freddy for an interview, and it was highly unlikely that he'd agree to an interview, in the first place. If none of the _real_ reporters could secure an interview, how could she? No, posing as a reporter would _at best_ make a flimsy cover story, if she got caught staking out his house.

Ultimately, the only semi-adequate impersonation of which she could conceive was an aspiring servant of some sort, like a maid or a groundskeeper. Applying for a position would hopefully bring her face-to-face with Freddy for an interview, but, if not, it would at least get her close enough to "accidentally" cross his path. Thus, doing her best not to picture herself scantily-clad in a French maid's uniform, Lex scoured Colorado job listings for any service jobs in the vicinity of Witcher Mountain. It really wasn't difficult to cancel out all the "noise" of other job listings, when you were looking for jobs in an area that was looking for people.

However, several hours later, as the first hints of dawn tinted the sky a sickening red, Lex reluctantly concluded that Aeon was not currently hiring. Returning her precious laptop to its spot on the coffee table, she bitterly acknowledged that a billionaire had no need to hire locally, anyway. Unlike herself, Freddy Aeon could make the best candidates come to _him_.

Collapsing back onto the couch, Lex rolled onto her back, and heaved a deep sigh of exhaustion, as she stared hopelessly at the wooden ceiling. Her apartment was awash with a glowing, red aura of light, as the first sunrays threatened to break through, with the coming day. She had been awake all night, plotting, and didn't feel much like dragging herself upstairs to the loft, where her twin-sized bed rested. Instead, she delicately closed her eyes, folded her hands over her stomach, and resumed mulling over Freddy Aeon.

All the legal, and semi-legal options had been exhausted as thoroughly as Lex's body. Thus, the only way forward appeared to be through less-than-legal means. Breaking foreign, MACUSA laws was one thing… It seemed less unethical somehow. But, breaking her own government's laws… that was something else entirely. What if she got caught? There was no fallback plan for something like this, and no no-maj in their right mind would believe her story. Ultimately, she had to ask herself - how far was she willing to go?

 _Hem hem_ , coughed the soft, imaginary voice of her subconscious, _Excuse me, were you_ awake _three days ago? We. Ate. Paper._

Okay. With her doubts of dedication settled, Lex surmised that even if she enlisted the help of a hacker, or otherwise obtained Freddy Aeon's personal phone number, or email, she wasn't prepared to risk _everything_ on the cyber security of an anonymous hacker. Any messages sent through modern communication methods would be too expected, too traceable, and were most likely being monitored by the no-maj government, and, perhaps, even MACUSA.

There was only one conceivable way that Lex could foresee this venture ending in success. Indeed, it was like a bad video game, where the creators promised you a wealth of options, but, in reality, every choice you made simply led back to the same, predetermined outcome.

 _It figures,_ thought Lex, as she glared at the backs of her eyelids, _I finally end up living a real, fantasy RPG, and I get stuck with the shitty 'on-rails' version…_

The _worst_ part was that the only option available to her seemed to be Mission Impossible - and she hadn't even _seen_ those movies! Ugh, perhaps, it was time to go back to the drawing board… There had to be _some_ way for her to achieve her goals that didn't require sneaking through the high-tech security system of a paranoid billionaire.

Then, it hit her like a Ferrari to the face.

"Oh. My. Gosh," she bellowed, as she sat bolt upright, and hammered her right palm repeatedly against her forehead.

She insanely wished for an immediate mail-order of an entire choir of owls, just so that their grumpy squawking might provide the perfect accompaniment for the chorus of voices currently shouting _Idiot!_ in her head…

As all of her worries quickly faded, and her concerns coalesced into one, wondrous solution, Lex's veins seemed to course, and crackle, with electricity. All lethargy had been forgotten in the face of her renewed vigor.

 _Oh my gosh, it's so obvious…_ Lex thought gleefully … _use magic_.

* * *

 _Let it never be said that wizards aren't wizards at construction work_ , thought Lex, as she gazed up at the flawlessly renovated Bank of the Fae.

William's Square, the gilded courtyard, which housed the Bank of the Fae, looked perfectly polished and new beneath the blinding light of Thursday's noonday sun. Now, the only reminder of the Sunday morning explosion was a rather bored-looking Auror, who stood guard by the large, bronze, front doors of the bank.

Despite the safe, welcoming exterior of the building, however, Lex struggled to fight back several alarming pangs of trepidation, as she stepped tentatively towards the bank. As unlikely as a repeat bombing was, given the new security measures that MACUSA had, surely, put in place, Lex was on edge, imagining the bank exploding outward towards her at any moment.

Fortunately, the only danger she had to contend with, this fine Thursday, was that of herself arousing too much suspicion. Lex shuffled past the solitary guard, and kept her gaze fixed carefully forward, as she approached the ornate, bronze doors of the bank.

The sculpted, metal doors were even more magnificent up close. Beautiful, winged creatures, which Lex excitedly identified as fairies or fairy-like magicals, were depicted in a detailed relief. Each elegant creature reclined in graceful repose, upon a gnarled mesh of flowery, woven vines and branches, while looking towards a column of braided, circular knockers lining the outer edge of each grand door.

Lex reached tentatively for one of the bronze knockers, but to her amazement, the large, metal doors morphed and melted before her eyes. The background of climbing rose vines, star-shaped flowers, and clumps of ivy swayed gently in time with the courtyard's light breeze, as the impressed figures flitted their wings daintily, and swooped in from all directions towards the line of metal knockers. As multiple, metallic hands closed around each circular handle, the heavy doors creaked slowly open, seemingly of their own accord.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Lex finally crossed the threshold into a deep, cavernous room, which appeared dark and obscured, while the blaring sunlight shone brilliantly through the open doorway, heating her backside. Soon enough, the heavy doors swung shut behind her, with a resounding thud, and Lex blinked wildly, as her eyes adjusted to the settling darkness.

Approximately nine blinks later, the warm, ambient light of the room finally sharpened, and Lex was free to gape in awe at the Bank of the Fae's inner splendor. A semicircle of raised desks grew seamlessly from stumps of opalized wood, outlining a wide, dim room, which was apparently built within the hollow of a massive tree. The broad semicircle of desks split at the center, leaving room for an arched, ironwrought gate to bar the entrance to a grand, towering opening in the tree trunk.

Incredibly, an entire world beckoned from behind this gate, as the gigantic hole in the bark wall led somewhere beyond the shelter of the hollow, and even the Inside Out. Through the mouth of this jagged, wooden crevice, a blue, crescent moon hung low within a cloudy, night sky, the light of its moon and stars not quite penetrating the thick fog, which overwhelmed, and shrouded, a dark, dense forest below.

As she stared, the iron gates screeched open, and a toddler-sized, porcupine-looking creature pointed a young couple into the mist. Holding hands, the couple stepped briskly through the iron gates, and followed a glowing orb of light down a foggy path, while the gates swung creakily shut once more.

As several other colorful orbs of light floated whimsically past the gap, like luminous petals on the wind, Lex earnestly returned her attentions to the tree's interior. Fluorescent plants crept steadily up the hollow's wood walls, and clusters of floating lamps sent a graduated, glowing aura of warm light crawling up the length of the tall tree trunk. Though the ceiling above was lost in a murky darkness, the increasingly-dark, shadowy length of the hollow trunk was lit by the telltale glow of numerous doorways, windows, and miniature street lamps, which spiraled haphazardly about the tree. Some of the openings carved into the opalized wood appeared large enough for humans, while others appeared to house something much smaller.

However, sensing the weight of several, appraising stares upon her, Lex quickly clamped down on her curiosity, and lowered her gaze from the twinkling city of lights, above, to the assembly of strange, pointy-eared creatures currently seated behind a stretch of gilded desks on the left side of the semicircle. A few of them held her gaze for a long moment, before glancing back down at their desks, and resuming their routine, which appeared to include periodically glowering across the room at an assembly of porcupine-like creatures on Lex's right. Slightly-larger than the pointy-eared creatures on the left, the spiky, porcupine creatures with glowing, grey skin lounged at their desks, and chitter-chattered noisily amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the visible irritation of the somber, peach-skinned creatures opposite them.

Lex would have loved to consult a magical textbook, and study the two species, right then and there, but it simply wasn't prudent to continue ogling the room. Reigning in her curiosity was, unfortunately, like attempting to wrangle a wild stallion, but Lex _proudly_ handled it like a professional - she resisted any further speculation, or wanton ogling, and returned to the critical task at hand. It wasn't yet clear who she should ask about converting no-maj money to dragots, but Lex figured that, if she was going to blend in, she'd best feign nonchalance, and appear totally unfazed by the dazzling sights that surrounded her.

Wary of interrupting the porcupine creatures' conversation, Lex decided to ask one of the quiet, pointy-eared creatures for assistance, instead. Thus, she padded over to the nearest open desk on the left, where a particularly grumpy-looking creature stamped at a stack of papers hidden behind its desk. The brim of the wooden desk displayed a set of golden scales, and a shiny, golden name-card, which read 'Ingulff'.

Ingulff glanced disinterestedly at Lex, and then continued rustling whatever papers laid behind its desk. Normally, poor customer service irked her to no end, but under the given circumstances, Lex was feeling quite patient, and accommodating. She had just begun riffling through her freshly-packed wallet, when Ingulff finally raised his head, and peered down his long, pointy nose at Lex.

"Do you have no-maj currency you wish to convert?" it asked, in a deep, grating voice, and unexpected British accent.

While holding a conversation, Lex always found it difficult to avoid staring obviously at a mole, wart, or ripe pimple on a speaking person's face, but this situation was _at least_ ten times worse. Here she was, facing a non-human species for the first time, and she was supposed to stifle her grin, and act as if the entire situation was nothing special!

 _It sounds like a 'he,' but does his species even have genders? They don't appear to be asexual clones, but…_ mused Lex, as she stared at Ingulff's mouth-full of long, sharp teeth, _Geez! Gender-identity is complicated enough these days without adding multiple magical species to the mix!_

Ingulff cleared his throat, with a loud _Hem hem_ , before gruffly repeating his question.

"Do you have no-maj currency you wish to convert?"

"Yes, yes, I do," Lex stammered, as she pulled a stack of dollar bills, which was worth a full month's rent, from her wallet, and slid them tentatively onto the wooden counter.

For a couple of tense seconds, Ingulff leered down at the stack of bills in silence, and Lex anxiously waited, her breath bated, for Ingulff to announce the final verdict. She hoped that post-bombing security measures hadn't increased the difficulty of no-maj currency conversion, but… It really couldn't be this easy to fool the system, could it?

"Your _wand_ , please," sneered Ingulff, his wide lips curling over his yellowed, razor-sharp teeth.

 _Aaaand here we go_ … thought Lex, as she mentally prepared herself for the arduous task of explaining herself to a customer service agent.

It was possible she was misinterpreting, of course, but Ingulff seemed to be somewhat disgusted by the thought of Lex with a wand. Ha! Apparently, sharing a world with multiple, magical species complicated more than questions of gender identity - Lex felt it was now fair to say that she had several species worth of political history to catch up on… For the time being, however, Lex simply resolved to minimize her blundering by volunteering no more information than was _absolutely_ necessary.

Thus, she stated plainly, "I don't have a wand. I'm a squib."

Ingulff's lips curled even further into a revolting, toothy smile. He appeared to be quite pleased with her misfortune, and steepled his hands beneath his satisfied grin.

"Very well, Miss…" he drawled, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Austin," she supplied hastily.

"Miss _Austin_ ," Ingulff continued in a rather rehearsed fashion, "Does your family hold a vault account with the Bank of the Fae, or any other Gringotts affiliates?"

"No, I'm afraid not," answered Lex, with an uncomfortable smile.

"No?" he repeated, with mock incredulity and a disapproving shake of his head, "As an economics specialist, I must say that is most unwise, Miss Austin. You would do well not to follow their example with your _own_ finances."

Ingulff's reproachful tone was somewhat annoying, but Lex was still immensely pleased with the direction their conversation was taking. She'd love nothing more than to open a magical bank account, which she strongly suspected amounted to some enchanted vault in that enchanting, foggy forest beyond the ironwrought gate.

"Thank you, Ingulff," she said, with as much respectful sincerity as she could muster, "Yes, of course. I wasn't aware that squibs could open accounts with the bank."

"No, Miss Austin, unfortunately, you cannot," Ingulff responded apologetically, though his lips curved into an amused grin, just as Lex's curved into a disappointed frown, "However, should you have any magical offspring in the future, I would advise you to open an account in their name immediately."

Despite herself, an image of Seth Roman as a "daddy" wizard, flashed through her mind. Her mind's inner rationalist simply lowered a pair of no-nonsense glasses to the tip of its nose, and groaned a disbelieving _Seriously?_ Yes, seriously, the idea of Seth fathering her magical offspring was so ludicrous that, if Lex hadn't been actively restraining herself, she'd have burst into laughter right then and there.

"As for the non-magical money you wish to convert today, the bank requires that you complete the following form," continued Ingulff, as he slid a roll of parchment across the brim of the desk, "I will also maintain a detailed record of today's transaction, and, once finalized, you will be given a copy for your own records. Any questions?"

Ingulff's voice was almost comically deep, given his short stature. Yet, it leant him a rather commanding presence, as he straightened his back, and waited expectantly for her answer. Lex shook her head, and uttered a casual _Nope_.

"Very well. I have calculated an exchange rate of 24.5 dollars to the dragot, with a 13% conversion fee. That yields a total of 46 dragots, 1 half-dragot, and 1 sprink. Do you find these terms acceptable?"

Lex pursed her lips, and eagerly nodded her head. The suspense was killing her - would this actually work? What terrible questions would this document hold, and was it even _possible_ for a piece of paper to induce more hand-wringing anxiety than Seth Roman?

"Excellent. Then, as soon as I've reviewed your completed form, you may be on your way," said Ingulff curtly, as he plunked two shiny inkwells down next to the parchment roll, and returned to his paperwork.

Two disheveled quills poked their feathery heads out of their respective inkwells. Frayed, matted feathers protruded from the first quill's crooked spine, along with a small tag, labeling it as 'Self-Spelling.' It had obviously seen a great deal of use, and was placed in a fancy, golden inkwell. The second quill, however, was thin, black, and nearly pristine, as it extended from a matte black inkwell, labeled 'Non-Magical Signatures ONLY.' Unlike the first quill, the only indicator that this second quill had seen use was a splattering of red ink stains about its jet black feathers.

 _There must be a lot of magicals with shaky hands_ , mused Lex, as she pulled the first quill from its golden inkpot, and began answering the easy questions at the top, which requested basic information, like name, status, and birthdate.

Further down the parchment roll, however, the questions grew trickier, and Lex needed to pause, before transcribing a more calculated answer. While she pondered each question, she idly tickled her cheek with the messy quill, before hurriedly snapping it away from her face, each time she remembered how dirty and germ-covered it probably was.

 _Okay, how did I obtain this no-maj money? Hmm… let's see… Well, I've been forced to hold a no-maj job, as I can't find other work as a squib…_ she thought, scribbling her answer nearly-illegibly with the quill.

Of all things, why on _Earth_ did this British magical offer her a quill, instead of a perfectly practical pen? With every clumsy dip of the quill, Lex sprayed ink blobs onto the parchment, blurred hard-won, completed, inked words, and, all in all, turned the document into a rowdy mess that would have made any kindergartener proud. Lex quickly found herself wishing for Seth Roman's "fascinating" inkpen, as she grunted, and essentially struggled to complete every single character of the English alphabet.

 _Am I a creature of the night? Err… I was kind of a night owl in college - does that count?_ joked Lex, while she promptly skipped a section of the document, which appeared to be dedicated entirely to requests from magical creatures.

Finally, after fifteen long minutes of effort, of which Lex's misadventures with the quill were at least 90% responsible, the only task left to her was to complete the signature portion. The majority of the messy parchment was, now, effectively comprised of her messy scrawl reiterating in a myriad of creatively-modified phrases that she was merely a squib working amidst non-magicals.

Above the signature line, there was a lengthy statement, and a large, blank space in which she was required to copy the statement word-for-word, specifically with the 'Non-Magical Signatures ONLY' quill. Her statement would affirm that she had neither compromised the magical world, nor befriended no-maj in any significant capacity, but, really, it was still quite surprising how willing MACUSA was to just take her word for it. She attributed their willingness to the fact that squibs were quite rare, and often related to influential magical families. However, it was grossly hypocritical that, meanwhile, the helpless _no-maj_ relatives of no-maj-born were simultaneously being given The Tap.

 _Double standards, per usual_ , thought Lex bitterly, as she returned the matted, 'Self-Spelling' quill to its golden inkpot, and withdrew the black quill designated for signatures from its own matte black perch.

Twirling the long, thin quill between her fingers, Lex soon noticed that its sharp tip was completely dry. Furthermore, as she subsequently scraped the tip along the bottom of its matte black inkpot, she realized that the entire inkwell was bereft of ink.

 _Really? There's a self-spelling quill, but not a self-filling inkpot? Gee, Magic meet Logic - I think you've got lots to discuss…_ Lex mentally sighed, rolling her eyes, as she jabbed the sharp quill into the 'Self-Spelling' quill's inkpot, instead.

As she began copying the lengthy statement in the indicated space, a curious, tingling itch sprung up on the back of her left hand. Pausing to instinctively scratch at the back of her hand, Lex balked in surprise at the current state of her statement.

There had been just enough black ink on the tip of the quill for Lex to complete the first word of her statement, but instead of each letter fading at the corners and edges, as the letters usually did, the black ink, instead, faded into a deep, wine red. Thoughtfully, Lex brought the quill tip to the parchment once more, and inscribed the next word. Again, an unsettling pin-prick sensation stung the back of her hand, as bright, scarlet ink oozed from the quill's tip, and onto the paper. Conducting a second, and then a third trial, just for confirmation, Lex came to the sickening realization that she was writing this statement in her own blood.

While she was not particularly squeamish at the sight of blood, she found this revelation to be profoundly disturbing. Wasn't there a whole field of magic dedicated to blood? What if her blood signed some sort of binding contract, or effectively handed the bank, or MACUSA, a magical kill-switch?

Though it bothered her to be so entirely cliché, Lex sighed, and pushed aside her worries with a firm _I've come too far_. For better or worse, she was committed to seeing this through. Thus, with a trembling hand, she continued scribing her gory statement.

 _At least my handwriting looks neat, now,_ she reassured herself in an awkward attempt at optimism.

By the time the black quill drew the final flourish on Lex's signature, the back of Lex's left hand was littered with raised, orderly scratches. A few of the more commonly used words now appeared legibly in shiny, ridged lines, where her torn skin was left exposed, and raw. And, yet, Lex was immensely pleased, and relieved, that her ordeal had finally passed. She reminded herself cheerfully that the scratches would, ultimately, be nothing but a morbid souvenir.

"Let us see…" drawled Ingulff, after Lex finally set down the quill, and handed him the parchment roll, "Though I can't say much for your penmanship, Miss Austin, everything looks to be in order. Here are your dragots, the transaction record, and - of course, the bag is included free-of-charge. Good day!"

He slid a short parchment roll, and a plump, felt bag across the counter. The rather weighty bag jingled encouragingly, as its valuable contents rattled against one another, and Lex couldn't help but grin, as sprightly excitement swelled in her chest. Finally, she possessed her very own dragots! Now, incredibly, she could actually _buy_ some magic.

Ingulff re-rolled the parchment she had handed him, and held it dismissively over his head. Though he clearly considered their business to have been concluded, Lex stayed near the desk, and watched with curiosity, while he left his arm extended, as if he were brandishing a torch.

Soon, one of the floating lamps above descended, and Lex was shocked to find that the glowing lamp was beset by a miniature desk, and the desk was beset by a beautiful fairy. A high-pitched buzzing noise issued from her glittery, insect-like wings, as she primped her blonde ponytail, and fussed over her shimmering dress. However, after a brusque _hem hem_ from Ingulff, she sighed, released a small crane from her desk, and hooked the parchment roll onto it. The parchment was nearly twice as large as her tiny desk, so she left the parchment roll dangling from its hook, as she flew back to her desk, and carted the entire lamp-desk away, towards a distant door in the tree-city above.

As the fairy lamp finally receded into the distance, its warm light disappearing into the trunk of the tree, Lex slipped her transaction record into a coat pocket, and clutched the heavy bag of dragots lovingly to her chest. Ingulff was no longer acknowledging her presence, so she briskly turned, and plodded over to the big, bronze doors. It was much too dark to see if there were decorative figures on this side of the doors, as well, but soon enough the grand doors creaked open on their own, spilling bright sunlight into the dim room, and, with one last, furtive glance over her shoulder, Lex stepped out into the blinding sunlight.

* * *

Joke shops aren't generally considered the destination of choice, when equipping one's self for a serious, life-or-death, covert operation. However, as usual, Lex found that the magical world had produced an exception to the rule.

After exchanging her money at the bank, she first stopped by the local healer's office. The visit, however, was rather brief. A sign posted to the front door declared that the store was closed for the week, while the head healer was away, dealing with some _black-market-medicinals-gone-wrong_ business. However, the oddity that was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was very much open.

In fact, it was practically impossible to miss the busy Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes joke shop, as the building featured a towering statue of a gigantic, lanky, ginger man, poking his limbs out of a single column of wide, baby blue, bay windows. The tall, red-headed statue gave a goofy smile, as it tipped its British-flag-patterned top hat repeatedly at every passerby.

Next to the giant man's legs stood a baby blue door. In order to reach the door, aspiring customers had to walk over or around one of the statue's large, clown shoes, which was extended as if intended to trip any other unlucky statue wandering the area.

Of course, the blatant fire hazard was primarily being used as a makeshift jungle gym, at the moment. Throngs of screaming children, and their distressed parents, bustled in and out of the store, climbed all over the giant shoe, whipped the shoelaces about, and, generally, just milled about the door. Lex couldn't believe that there were so many parents still willing to bring their children to The Inside Out, after Sunday's "incident," but, hey, who was she to judge?

The joke shop chain was apparently quite popular, as she quickly learned from a large, boastful plaque, which hung in the display window. The jolly shop was one of many proud franchises of the original store, which had been founded by two Weasley brothers, and funded by Harry Potter. All three wizards were famous heroes of some British wizarding war.

 _Well, there's some fun trivia for magical game night_ , Lex thought humorously, as she dodged a shrieking toddler, who came barrelling out of the front door, waving about a suspicious-looking frisbee.

Sidestepping a gaggle of shifty-looking women, who crooned over some recently-purchased, heart-shaped bottles, Lex slipped through the front door to have a look around. Perhaps, the shop sold some useful magical disguises. At the very least, it would be relatively easy to lurk about unnoticed in such a busy shop.

Inside the brick building, the crowds, and the consequential noise level, were largely the same, as chaotic, and rowdy as the scene outside. However, instead of a single, stationary shoe with which to play, now, there were several floors worth of purposely-obnoxious objects. Cackles, chortles, and howls of laughter issued from every corner of the store, as customers bumbled through shelves that overflowed with bright, colorful products.

Lex wasn't searching for any specific items, but she had, at least, narrowed down her shopping checklist to two broad categories. First, she needed to find magical tools, devices, or disguises capable of getting her safely past Freddy Aeon's defenses. Second, she needed irrefutable proof of magic, some item capable of convincing him, on the spot, that magic _works_.

* * *

Three hours later, a pale yellow canary chirped excitedly, as it hopped across Lex's kitchen counter. Unlike the mail-service owls that had visited earlier in the week, this bird was a long-time resident of the apartment.

 _Ding!_

The chime of a cooking timer marked the end of a sixty second countdown, just as the suddenly-silent canary burst into a puff of yellow feathers. A few bowls clattered to the ground, as a young human female appeared, and flailed about wildly on the kitchen counter, yelling profanities, before she slipped over the side, grasping hopelessly at the open air, and landed with a thud on the hardwood floor below.

"Ow," Lex groaned, while brushing a few small, canary-yellow feathers from her face.

As she wobbled to her feet, Lex rubbed her back, which was now painfully sore where it had impacted with the floor. In spite of the aching pain, Lex grinned ecstatically, and bounced on the balls of her feet. She had just spent sixty seconds of her increasingly-magical existence as a canary!

 _Talk about an out-of-body experience!_ she thought, laughing joyously, _I'm a temporary were-canary!_

After a whole lifetime of daydreams, and asking ' _what if_ s,' she had just transformed her entire body into another fully-functional organism. No surgery… no side-effects… and, yet… magicals thought this was worth only ten dollars? Wow. If this was considered a joke item, she couldn't wait to see some _serious_ magic.

Bending over her smartphone, Lex saved the video recording she'd just taken of her transformation, and adjusted the phone's cheap, camera tripod for her next trial. Since the Canary Creams were slightly cheaper, when bought in a bundle, Lex had bought two egg cartons for 3.5 dragots, or 85.75 American dollars. Each styrofoam egg carton bore the Weasley brand on the cover, and housed a dozen completely-innocent-looking custard cream cookies within. Though it was by no means a small purchase, Lex felt she could afford to do some experimentation, before attempting a high-profile break-in with unfamiliar equipment.

Thus far, she had only eaten two Canary Cream cookies out of the first egg carton. Cookie number one had confirmed that the Canary Creams did, in fact, do what their packaging promised. Cookie number two, which she had eaten a little over a minute ago, had confirmed that the magical effect would last for exactly sixty seconds. Cookie number three, she would use, next, to measure precisely how far she could fly, while in "canary mode." The remainder of the first carton would then be dedicated to perfecting her flying technique, as it would certainly take some practice to optimize her flight path, as well as overcome all of the bird-brain urges to hunt for insects, to sing, and, most disturbingly, to collect stray hairs from around her apartment.

Of course, Lex knew that she couldn't expect the Canary Creams alone to get her into Freddy Aeon's fortress, but the cookies would certainly come in handy should she need to bypass any motion detectors. Motion sensors in a wild, forested area, like Aeon's mountain, would certainly be calibrated to ignore most animals, as well as wind, rain, and other weather changes, in order to prevent frequent false alarms. Thus, a stray canary would be unlikely to alert either motion-activated cameras, or non-magical security guards.

In the event that a sensor _was_ tripped, Lex strongly suspected that visual footage the surrounding area would be sent either to a security guard, or, knowing Aeon, some kind of high-tech image analysis system. It would be helpful to know exactly what kind of security system she would be challenging, but, unfortunately, Lex had no idea how television heroes always managed to get their hands on building security, or construction plans, especially private ones. So, she was, instead, preparing to improvise, developing a rather flexible break-in plan, which featured multiple redundancies.

 _I don't always plan, but when I do, I wing it,_ Lex joked, while idly wondering what Dos Equis beer actually tasted like.

Even though, in recent months, she could never seem to properly stick to a gym workout plan, Lex had somehow summoned enough self-discipline, within the past day, to spend the entirety of the next two under a strict training regimen. In addition to exercising her canary wings, she would lightly jog each morning and night, practice speed-changing her shoes, and walk three times a day with her new pair of Sticky Trainers. In less athletic news, she was, now, also becoming quite good at wielding a handheld fan.

 _Thank you, oh, wonderful Weasley brothers_ , thought Lex, as she gazed up at her sneakers, which currently rested on the ceiling of her tall, studio apartment.

Hanging upside-down, the blood-rush to her head sometimes became quite unpleasant, but, otherwise, the Sticky Trainers allowed her to stand just as easily on the ceiling, as she did on the floor. Likewise, the Sticky Trainers allowed her to walk awkwardly parallel to floor, while she scaled up or down the walls. At first, Lex had been much too terrified, and vertigo-ridden, to venture far from her makeshift safety mat of novelty pillows. However, after a few successful walking tests on different surfaces, and at different speeds, Lex finally worked up the courage to venture higher. Amazingly, she found that the sneakers seemed capable of adhering to practically any surface - even her ceiling lamp, and her flat-screen TV.

 _I bet these Weasley brothers got into all kinds of trouble_ , she thought, while walking briskly down her kitchen wall.

Once again, she was having a hard time believing that this item was, seriously, being sold in a _joke_ shop. She supposed that, from a certain perspective, she _was_ about to pull one hell of a prank on someone - she just hoped that someone wasn't herself.

Of course, the Weasley brothers weren't just pranksters - they were also war heroes, and, fortunately, the heroic inventors had created a special line of magical defense products, which included Peruvian Darkness Powder. As the name implied, the powder would plunge any space it occupied into total darkness. Lex was instantly intrigued by this ability to essentially banish all visible light waves from the immediate vicinity, reducing it to a vacuum.

Her scientific curiosity was secondary, however, to the obvious home invasion applications. Indeed, if she could disperse the Peruvian Darkness Powder around a pesky security camera, or a pesky guard, they quite literally would never see her coming. Her primary concern was that the powder masked only waves within the visible light spectrum, and not infrared light, but, hey, that's what her redundancies were for, right?

After happily purchasing one large bag of the powder, Lex had decided it was much too valuable to waste any on more than a small 'proof of concept' test. Instead, Lex spent two hours blowing baking flour at various targets with a carefully aimed handheld fan. Once she was adequately convinced that she could handle waves of light on the visible spectrum, she tested her ability to handle infrared.

She knew that infrared cameras, and infrared motion sensors, would essentially be viewing a heat map of the area they monitored. The sensors would look for any temperature fluctuations, comparing the heat of objects to the background temperature. A particularly advanced system would most likely notice if the temperature of a room wasn't what it was supposed to be, or if a suspiciously-cold, human-shaped object passed by, but she didn't need to beat it entirely - she just needed to confuse it enough not to trigger an alarm. Surely, the system wouldn't know what to do about a freak, moving snowstorm…

Uncorking the glass bottle, which contained Weasley's Snowstorm, Lex shivered, as a gentle steam of snowflakes rose from the bottle neck, and a small cloud began forming overhead. She quickly jotted down some numbers in an online spreadsheet, and recorked the bottle, before her chattering teeth could give up, and finally fall out. Her spreadsheet tracked the lowest resting temperature of Weasley's Snowstorm, how quickly the temperature dropped after opening the bottle, how long it would last, and how large the storm could grow. It was a lot to evaluate, but she had, of course, bought a spare.

* * *

Very early in the morning, on October twenty-eighth, Lex stared nervously into the mirror, delivering deep, controlled exhales from her mouth, in attempt to pacify the flittering butterflies in her chest. She had just made her final purchase of a last-minute combination deal for a car rental, and a red-eye airline flight to Denver, Colorado. It was the final nail in the coffin, the last exit before the toll - Lex was committed to a crime.

 _Wow. Wow. I'm really doing this - I'm really doing this, aren't I?_ she thought nervously, plucking a pink feather from the brim of the smooth, pointed, black hat she held in her hands.

For two full dragots, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had sold her yet another brilliant, and grossly underestimated, magical "joke" - the Headless Hat. Lex couldn't quite grasp the humor behind a hat that makes your head invisible, but she supposed it was one of those "you have to be a wizard" sort of things.

Slipping the Headless Hat atop her head, she slid into the comforting embrace of anonymity. If all else failed, this hat of invisibility was her fallback, the last reserve chute protecting her identity. An odd comfort settled over her, as she ultimately accepted that what was done was done. The time for preparation was over, and, now, it was time for _action_.

"Mr. Aeon," a strong, ownerless voice spoke into the empty mirror, "Let's make a deal."


	6. Of Cuts & The Constellation

_+- Author's Foreword -+_

 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS: cutting, language_**

 _Sorry it took so long - you can blame Seth Roman! No, but really... I seem to be incapable of writing short chapters. I will endeavor to write the next one more concisely - and speedily._

 _There have been a few **science** -heavy moments so far, and I foresee them increasing. Please let me know if something seems unnecessary or unclear! Also, the science segments can be skipped if you're not interested by that sort of thing._

 _Lastly, this story is primarily an adventure tale, not a **romance** , but I'd love to hear **your thoughts** on this chapter's healthy dose of the mushy stuff! =)_

 _As always, thank you for reading, and thank you for your helpful reviews!_

 _Without further ado... I happily present DATE NIGHT, just in time for Valentine's Day ~*~_

* * *

 **Six ~ _Of Cuts & The Constellation_**

* * *

Beneath the dim moonlight, a murky column of smoke billowed from its open mouth as the interior of the long chimney shaft descended into a heavy, crushing darkness. As Lex peered around the smoke and into the gullet of the fiery beast, she spied, deep within the pitch-black chimney, the fleeting glint of a bright, red laser.

The lip of the chimney was lined by a thick band of heavy-duty metal, leading Lex to strongly suspect two grim things. One, as soon as the fire burning far below was extinguished, the mouth of this chimney would close. Two, the hearth of this fireplace was indeed far, far below - perhaps, much farther than a palm-sized canary could fly in sixty heated seconds.

Once again, Lex felt like she was walking through life hand-held by fate. There were so few options made available to her, and yet so much faith and creativity was required.

Carefully crumbling the second-to-last Canary Creams cookie in her closed left fist, she prepared herself for the ride of a lifetime. In her right hand, she gripped the glass bottle containing Weasley's Snowstorm and poised her thumb against the cork. Then, after placing a line of cookie crumbs along the chimney brim as gingerly as she would diamonds, she straddled the narrow chimney and tossed another cookie into her mouth. Finally, she poured a steady stream of Weasley's Snowstorm down the chimney, recorked the bottle, and bit down hard on the very-last Canary-Creams-cookie.

 _One_ , counted Lex as she burst into a world of hot, scathing smoke.

 _Two_ , she counted as her small, yellow body fell to the chimney's brim, scooping a line of cookie crumbs into its beak.

 _Three_ , her count continued as she flung herself into the steamy darkness once more, pointing her stuffed beak towards the ground.

 _Five_ , she swallowed, while passing the first line of infrared lasers.

 _Ten_ , she marked fearfully as she realized she'd reached a much-too-slow terminal velocity.

 _Twenty_ , Lex continued as she pounded the air with her tiny wings and prayed that her exercise regimen had been enough.

 _Forty_ , she coughed, the rising steam still singeing her feathers as recently-visible embers glowed red-hot in a grate far below.

 _Sixty_.

Her time of reckoning drew near. However many crumbs she'd managed to gulp down as a canary, she'd no way of knowing what the ultimate effect would be or how long the effect would last. She'd gambled that consuming the cookie as a bird would buy her a few extra seconds, and now only time would tell…

 _Sixty-one_.

The chimney had sloped gradually outward, growing to a wider, more-standard chimney size. There was hardly any room for complex thought. Lex's universe had narrowed to three simple truths - time, gravity, and the aching pulse of her heart as it madly pumped blood to her beating wings.

 _Sixty-five._

Feathers flew, limbs twisted, flesh scraped, and bone clattered against the brick chimney wall. Lex slid, fully-human, down the sheer, back wall of the chimney, finally coming to a rest behind a pile of steaming cedar logs.

As soon as she realized, with deep-seated relief, that she was, indeed, _still_ _alive_ , Lex rapidly swapped her pair of Sticky Trainers, which she had spray-painted an inconspicuous black, for a pair of black, leather boots and settled the Headless Hat atop her head. Finally, Lex uncorked the bottle of Weasley's Snowstorm, which she was once again grasping firmly in her human hand. She allowed herself six seconds to compose herself, while the stormcloud slowly gathered above, and then she climbed out of Freddy Aeon's chimney hearth, snowy winds whistling about her as if she were an incarnation of Mother Nature, herself.

* * *

"Explain," repeated Freddy Aeon.

Aeon had reluctantly agreed to allow Lex to help him onto one of the loveseats by the fireplace, and Lex had reluctantly agreed to restart the fire. Now they each sat, staring across at one another from opposite sides of Aeon's regal coffee table. Lex noted that Freddy Aeon was remarkably composed for someone who had just witnessed magic at work for the first time - admittedly, much more composed than she had been.

"There's no easy way to put this, so, I'm just going to jump right in," she started, crossing her legs and leaning back against the loveseat cushions as casually as possible, "I have access to an ancient, secretive society, full of untapped potential in the form of extremely-advanced technologies."

Freddy paused, as if waiting for the punchline to what was surely a joke. When no punchline was delivered, however, he tentatively took the bait, while discreetly eyeing his expensive cellphone, which still taunted him from its out-of-reach resting place on the coffee table.

"Alright…" drawled Freddy, "And, assuming you're telling the truth, how do I stand to benefit _personally_?"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it, Mr. Aeon? _Stand_ ," she stated with emphasis, and then rushed to explain her meaning, before she came across as _too_ inconsiderate, "Among this society's advanced technologies are advanced _healing_ technologies - namely, the technology required to regrow limbs."

After she'd assisted Freddy onto his loveseat, Freddy had assumed a sophisticated, commanding posture, which was quite impressive for someone in his current position. However, for the first time since her dramatic entrance, a flicker of surprise and, dare-she-say-it, desire interrupted his calculating, aloof demeanor.

"Alright, let me clarify this… you're saying that you have tech -"

"Have access to tech," she interrupted.

"- have access to tech that can regrow fully-functional, organic, human limbs," he finished.

Doing her best to hide the growing eagerness from her voice, she pressed on, "Yes, all I require is the funding to purchase it."

"Bullshit," he spat.

"Excuse me?" Lex yelped quite-unprofessionally as he accompanied his curt, one-word response with a curt, high-intensity glare.

"You expect me to believe that this technology exists," he continued, his voice rising with all the confidence bought by righteous indignation, "and not only is no one attempting to profit off of it, but now, paradoxically, _you_ are able to purchase it."

"Yes, Mr. Aeon -" she started.

"Freddy, he interjected, "If I'm following you down this rabbit-hole, I at least want you to use my real name."

"Okay, Freddy it is. As I was saying, the current manufacturers of this technology _are_ profiting, but they only sell to their exclusive community."

Freddy scoffed.

"I _am_ exclusive society, lady. I've left no stone unturned in my search for a more-palatable solution to this… dilemma," he snarled as he gestured in disgust at his missing lower limbs, "and when your net worth is as _exclusive_ as mine, you have access to every-single-fucking-rock."

 _Oh, no, but we were doing so well…_ moaned Lex's inner-rationalist, who now fearfully awaited Lex's inevitable tirade.

This was _exactly_ why Lex had bolstered her resolve and meditated on self-discipline before confronting this man. Yes, despite the churning revulsion in the pit of her stomach, Lex _knew_ that she needed his assistance. Although her financial sacrifice would probably amount to a microscopic pebble in the fathomless pond of Freddy Aeon's net worth, Lex had already committed to this endeavor what was, in _her_ financial portfolio, a small _fortune_. For now, she'd just have to avoid contemplating his haughty smirk, which was currently screaming _I-could-buy-_ you _-if-I-wanted_.

"Well, if we're making rock analogies… it's kind of like you and I are used to going around foraging for things by turning over stones…" Lex started, as calmly as possible, and then succumbed, charging headlong into an emphatic explanation of building intensity, "but _these_ people would never be caught _dead_ beneath a stone, because they actually live in a fucking solar-powered sky-castle, where _they_ forage for things by lifting moon-rocks with the power of their fucking minds. You could turn over every stone you've ever seen, _Freddy_ \- heck, you could _own_ every stone! They'll _still_ be living-it-up in their sky-castle, and the only reason they'd _ever_ spare _you_ a glance is if they feared you might try to climb up and join them! _That's_ about how much they care about you, your stones, and your exclusive _net worth_ , Mr. Aeon."

 _Aaaand so much for saving it for later_ , sighed her inner-rationalist in resignation, while it removed its imaginary glasses and shook its imaginary head.

Freddy blinked twice and then burst into a round of deep, rumbling laughter. Lex had a mere twenty seconds to rein her anger in and wonder whether or not she'd gone too far.

"Alright, mysterious stranger. After that… _colorful_ analogy, let me suspend my disbelief for a moment here... If this super-secret, advanced society exists, how is that _you've_ gained access, and _I_ have not?"

"By sheer, dumb luck," she admitted, prompting Freddy's jet-black eyebrows to lift in surprise as she explained further, "The technology that safeguards their society is biological in nature. I was on the receiving end of a medical procedure in which I was unknowingly-gifted with temporary access."

Freddy pondered over this new information for two silent minutes. Meanwhile, Lex glanced at her reflection in the dark glass of the floor-length window along the far wall. Her pointy Headless Hat was now completely visible. It wouldn't be long before the hat's invisibility spell wore off entirely and Freddy Aeon, along with all of his security cameras, got a good look at Lex's face.

"Prove it," he demanded suddenly, "Prove that you can get your hands on this healing technology… Invisibility and spontaneous snowfall are _all-well-and-good_ , but they're a far cry from the biotechnology you're proposing. How do I know you can deliver?"

Lex fought back the sudden urge to fidget in her seat. She knew that she'd feel much less confident negotiating when her face was finally exposed, so right now time was _of the essence_.

Fortunately, her two-part shopping strategy had included acquiring some proof of magic, and she'd had enough foresight to select a healing magic product. However, a topical cream was hardly the most sensational item she had to present…

"I have a knife, Freddy," Lex began slowly as surprise and a hint of fear peeked out from behind his stoic expression, "I'm going to pull it out and cut myself to demonstrate - is that okay with you, Freddy?"

All pretense of appearing calm and collected forgotten, Freddy's brow furrowed, and his upper lip curled as his face twisted into an expression of utter bewilderment. Nonetheless, Freddy nodded his assent, and Lex withdrew a sharp pocket-knife, which she'd purchased from a nearby hardware store.

Lex rolled down her sleeve, presenting the back of her left forearm to Freddy, before inquiring, "Would you like to inspect my arm more closely before I cut?"

With a casual shrug of his shoulders and a chuckle of disbelief, Freddy muttered, "Sure, why not?"

Lex strode around the end of the coffee table and tentatively extended her left forearm towards Freddy. As he leaned forward to inspect, running the pads of his long fingers softly across her skin, Lex gripped the handle of her pocket-knife tightly in her right hand. She hoped he was smart enough not to try to overpower her or to at least wait until after her demonstration, but, hey, animals don't always react logically when backed into a corner.

"Alright, I'm satisfied that this is your real skin," he said, pinching the skin on her wrist for emphasis, "and that it is uncut."

"Good," she replied and swiftly withdrew her arm.

Then, crouching down between the coffee table and the loveseat, Lex carefully held the sharp edge of her knife to her arm. Her gaze flitted briefly to Freddy, just to confirm that he wasn't doing anything suspicious, and then she pressed down on the knife-edge and slid it free of her flesh.

A thin, pink line now crossed her forearm just below the wrist, and a few crimson drops bubbled up from the deepest part of the cut. All in all, it wasn't nearly theatrical enough for Hollywood, where characters always seemed to pick the most dangerous, dramatic locations on their body and cut unnecessarily deep. But, this scratch was more-than-adequate for her demonstration, and she wasn't looking to die again today, thanks.

Of course, as she presented her slashed forearm to Freddy, he was less than impressed, laughing dryly, "Well, now. Please, allow me to retrieve my magnifying glass…"

Lex narrowed her eyes, but furiously reminded herself why she was putting up with this asshole. The cut she'd made wasn't nearly as painful as she'd thought it would be, and, if she could endure the slight sting of a knife, she knew she could endure the sting of Freddy Aeon's words.

"I'm currently _bleeding_ for you - do you recognize that or not?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Folding his hands in his lap, Freddy answered simply, "Recognized. Now, show me the magic."

Lex froze for a moment, taken aback by his casual reference to magic, but she soon realized that he was using what she, herself, had considered a mere, colloquial phrase just last week. Thus, she chuckled softly as she withdrew a small, circular tub of Weasley's Cut-Concealer paste from her insulated jacket pocket.

Apparently, inventing joke shop products was a hazardous business, and the Weasley brothers had, thus, developed multiple healing-paste products to treat minor injuries. The packaging promised to remove small scratches and cuts within an hour, but, perhaps, Lex's idea of a "small scratch" really _did_ differ from that of most people, because, so far, every test she had run on herself healed the cuts in a mere minute-and-a-half.

"This should heal in approximately ninety seconds," she said, while rubbing the thick, pale-green paste onto her cut.

"Alright. Well, this is somewhat anticlimactic -" Freddy started but paused to watch Lex yank off her leather boots and quickly throw on a pair of spray-painted sneakers.

"What the _hell_ are you doing now?" he asked, in a tone halfway between alarm and exasperation.

"While… this… is…. healing..." she muttered, accompanying each word with a lunging step up the far wall, "I'll... demonstrate... something... more... climactic."

Finally, Lex came to a stop just above the gap between the coffee table and the loveseat. Standing on the ceiling, her upside-down face hung directly in front of Freddy's right-side-up one. Lex's hat was, inexplicably, still resting comfortably on her head, though long auburn strands of her hair poured over the upended brim and into the realm of the visible.

 _I'm like a magical Spiderman_ , she thought humorously, before silently clarifying for no one in particular, _but like hell are you my Mary Jane - no magical kisses for you, Freddy!_

Further complicating her already-complicated life, as romance so often did, thoughts of tomorrow's date with Seth Roman suddenly bubbled to the forefront of her mind. She quickly swatted the distracting thoughts aside but not before wondering unhelpfully how magical it would be to kiss a wizard…

"Alright. I'll admit it - that _is_ impressive," Freddy said, interrupting her thoughts.

She was relieved that he didn't attempt to nod his head in affirmation, because Lex feared that, in her current position, the slightest movement on his part might bang their heads together, jostle the Headless Hat, and leave her instead with a hatless head.

"These are simple sneakers, but, as you can see, they still manage to support all of my body-weight, and they even allow me to defy physics by standing parallel to the floor. I'll change shoes now and let you take a look at them," she stated simply, while Freddy peered over his shoulder as she strode around his head, down the thick wall of glass, and back over to the coffee table.

Finally, Lex plopped the pair of Sticky-Trainers onto the empty loveseat cushion and pulled on her leather boots once more, while Freddy inspected every inch of the Sticky Trainers in fascination. She had stolen a glance at her reflection on the way down the glass wall and was quite-perturbed to find that her face was now a shimmering blur, rather than properly invisible. Any chance she had of escaping with her identity still-hidden was rapidly going out the floor-length glass window.

"Okay, it looks like the ninety seconds have passed," she announced, as soon as her pink scratch faded, "Have a look."

Scrutinizing her previously-torn forearm, he grasped her wrist firmly and plucked at the skin. Finally, he released her arm, apparently satisfied.

"And, this technology can regrow bone and muscle, as well?" he asked.

Lex wasn't strictly certain that magic could do that, but, come on - it's _magic_ , for crying out loud! Of course, a tech-evangelist like Freddy Aeon didn't need to hear the word 'magic' just yet, so she settled on a much-more-productive, three-letter word instead…

"Yes. In all honesty, Freddy, I bought this particular product at a joke shop - a _joke_ shop," she chuckled, "They have their own form of currency, but this product was valued around 40 bucks, if you can believe _that_. But, with your money and my connections, we could get access to the _good_ _stuff_ , the serious stuff, the stuff that makes healing-wounds-within-a-minute look like a joke."

"Wonderful. And, this 'good stuff' includes technology to regrow muscle and bone, yes?" he repeated insistently.

"Yes, yes - that's what I'm getting at, Freddy," she sighed in exasperation, "I, unfortunately, don't have a spare cookie to demonstrate, but I recently purchased another joke product, which turns a person into a canary when ingested."

From the moment Lex had uttered 'cookie,' Freddy's face had once again positioned itself into an expression of pure incredulment. He clapped his hands together, wincing as he visibly struggled to process this latest information.

"That sounds like a joke alright," he laughed, shaking his head, "but I'll admit it again - what I've seen tonight defies explanation. What you're saying to me is, there's a society out there that fully-transforms their bodies… just for shits-and-giggles."

Lex scoffed, "Are you kidding? There's a society already doing more for less right here. What I'm _trying_ to say is that, if you can transform your human body into an animal for only ten dollars, imagine what we can do for _your_ body with a hundred."

Freddy leaned his head back against the top of the loveseat. He appeared to be deep in thought, considering her offer. Lex returned the Sticky Trainers to her slim backpack, while she waited for his response.

"I don't usually respond well to intimidation tactics in negotiations, but I'm prepared to make an exception just this once," he said finally, lifting his gaze to meet hers, "Also… I can see you now."

Fear washed over her, like a gravity-challenged bucket of cold ice-water. If she hadn't convinced him by now, things were about to get very ugly… But, wait - didn't he just say he'd make an exception?

"Does this mean you accept my offer?" she countered, her mouth moving rather mechanically, while she struggled to remain calm.

"Yes, that's exactly what it means…" he said, trailing off and then snapping in frustration, "What am I supposed to call you?"

She answered honestly, "Lex. Call me Lex."

"Alright, Lex," he stated bluntly, "Let's talk resources, objectives, projections - what do you need?"

It was now Lex's turn to sport an expression of utter bewilderment. That was it? He was ready to just jump in? She had a loosely-outlined plan, of course, but she was no businesswoman, and she hadn't the faintest idea how these meetings were supposed to go.

"What? You want to start now?" she sputtered in disbelief.

"Yes, Lex. I suppose this isn't really your forte, is it?" he sneered condescendingly, "But, it's no matter. Like you said… this is a deal I couldn't _possibly_ refuse."

* * *

Surprisingly healthy-looking flesh filled the floor-length mirror as Lex twisted her body around to inspect every inch of her naked form. No bruises remained from her mad dash through the streets of The Inside Out, her swollen nose had returned to its normal size, and now her hands weren't even scraped from her fall down the chimney, because she'd applied Weasley's Cut Concealer paste to her ragged palms. In fact, if it wasn't for her hemorrhaging bank account, she might be seriously questioning whether or not she was currently preparing for a date with a hallucination.

Cursing herself for not thinking to scope-out The Constellation until _an hour before_ she was scheduled to meet Seth, Lex pulled on a long, flowing, black dress. A classic cut, the dress was rather-simple but flattering - perhaps more flattering than she would have liked. Thanks to her intel oversight, however, she now had _no idea_ what dress code to expect from The Constellation or even the restaurant's exact address.

In her defense, there had been hardly any time to prepare herself for the outing, as she and Freddy had discussed logistics into the wee hours of the morning. When they were finally through, she was so exhausted that she didn't even think _twice_ about boarding Freddy's private plane and then napping in extreme vulnerability for the entire flight. However, she supposed at this point she had no choice but to trust him. She'd played the cards she was dealt, and now she would hopefully reap more than just the free-transit rewards. Ah, still, the perks of partnering with a billionaire…

After throwing a pair of heels into her purse and hiking up the neck of her dress to avoid showing any more cleavage, she switched off the apartment's lights and dashed out the front door. A short taxi ride later, she found herself wandering about the downtown harbor.

Tourists and residents meandered about the open plazas and orderly walkways, crowding around street-performers, chatting on park benches, and, of course, playing with their cellphones. Away from the clamoring crowds, masted ships of every shape and size bobbed peacefully in the water as waves lapped gently against the sturdy harbor walks and piers.

While neon signs and city lights shimmered in the rippling, black water below, Lex crossed a small walking-bridge for the _fourth time_ that evening. Well-lit storefronts lined the wide, waterside paths, but Lex had yet to find a restaurant called The Constellation. Perhaps even more discouraging was the fact that the majority of the harborview restaurants seemed to be winding down for the day, just as the bars and clubs of urban night-life wound up.

 _The Constellation better not be some hipster bar, Roman_ , thought Lex sullenly, placing her hands on her hips as she surveyed the harbor yet again.

She had to admit that she became more than a little grumpy when hungry… Seth Roman had assured her there would be dinner and her whining stomach needed something more substantial than beers and bar food. However, unless this was about to be an even more catastrophic date than what she was currently expecting, the most likely explanation for her predicament was that she was blindly searching for something that required magic.

 _Oh yeah, you know your life's getting crazy when 'magic' is suddenly the most_ logical _answer_ , she thought, sighing, while she trudged back towards some of the larger display ships.

As she rounded the bend of the harbor walk, passing by a rather-wide, paved-brick pier, she spotted a wavering, silvery figure standing next to an empty, water-taxi docking platform. Believing it to be some bizarre trick of the lights, Lex moved to rub her eyes, before remembering that she had carefully-applied makeup on her eyelids. Thus, she settled on firmly blinking a couple of times to clear her vision. With each blink, however, the greyish light only grew more concerning.

Blinking once, she opened her eyes to what looked like a translucent, grey boy, who was fully-prepared for an American Revolution reenactment. He wore a dirty apron over some sort of double-breasted, high-collared uniform with a tailcoat.

Blinking twice, she opened her eyes again and gasped sharply - the boy was now much closer and running towards her. Sporting a funny, curved hat that was much too big for his short, willowy frame, he might've been cute if not for the splatters on his clothing that looked suspiciously like glowing, silver blood.

Lex didn't feel like waiting around for the result of a third blink. However, before she could escape, the translucent boy was upon her.

"Hullo, miss," shouted the boy in a very-odd, British accent, "You're late! Betta 'urry-it-up b'fore he leaves ya!"

A mischievous glint in his silvery eyes, the ghost-boy giggled and leapt through Lex's lower body. Hands thrown out to shield her face, she stood frozen in shock as an icy chill swept through her legs and lower torso.

Two short seconds later, she was quite relieved when her frozen limbs began to thaw. Lowering her hands, she watched as the cackling boy skipped happily towards a nearby display ship and disappeared into a wisp of glowing, grey smoke.

A large group of Asian tourists passed by, pointing and staring curiously at Lex as they chatted amongst themselves. Lex failed to see how _she_ was more interesting than a walking, talking, spectral boy, but she was too engrossed in her own thoughts to really care. Her mouth hanging open, her arms outstretched, her mind was currently much-too-busy overloading itself to bother adjusting something as inconsequential as an odd standing position.

"Wha-wha-what?" she sputtered at the empty air, while considering what the existence of ghosts meant to her own existential reality.

Was this irrefutable proof that she had a soul? Did this mean there was an afterlife? As usual, the magical world just _couldn't_ do normal. Oh no, it wasn't enough to go on a date with a wizard - date night needed to be haunted and breach an iceberg of deep, philosophical questions.

Finally, Lex remembered that ghost-boy had told her to _'urry up_ , and, thus, she proceeded to shamble along by the water's edge, wandering in the direction the ghost-boy had gone. Soon, three tall, skeletal masts loomed overhead as she neared a long, wooden gangplank. A tall, male figure stood by its entrance, periodically glancing down at the pocketwatch in his hand.

 _Oh shit_ , she thought, her stomach suddenly twisting in knots, while metaphorical butterflies danced inside her ribcage.

She had already seen Seth Roman in a suit, and she couldn't imagine him improving his looks much from there. However, clearly her imagination had been overtaxed by her undercover-no-maj schemes, because, tonight, Seth Roman wasn't just good-looking - he was _gorgeous_. His loosely-ruffled hair blew gently in the salty breeze, and a skinny, black tie was flung casually over one shoulder of his fancy, embroidered cloak. Unbuttoned at the collar, the slim fit of the crisp, white button-up beneath his cloak accentuated his body in all the right places…

 _Ugh, my mind can't take much more of this_ , Lex inwardly groaned as she hurriedly threw off her ballet flats and slipped on the pair of heels stowed away in her purse.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show, Lex," Seth called out, having spotted her at last.

Seth stood within the eerie, foggy aura cast by a nearby streetlamp. As his deep voice drifted smoothly over the chilly, autumn air, the large, triple-masted ship behind him swayed to-and-fro in a slow, dizzying motion. A string of twinkling holiday-lights was draped over the tall masts from bow to stern, but there was only enough dim light to identify the thick bands of the ship's black-and-white paint job, as well as the line of antique cannons, which poked their barrels out from a series of portholes between the bands.

This portion of the pier was particularly quiet, the looming ship shielding them completely from the public eye. Now, Lex could only assume that "dinner at The Constellation" meant dinner on this dark, abandoned ship. But, really, how had he expected her to find this place?

Frustrated that she was late, as usual, she snapped back, "Yeah, well, I took the scenic route getting here, _Seth_."

"Clearly," he retorted, while he returned his pocketwatch to his fancy cloak and gestured to the gangplank, "Shall we go?"

Seth stepped over a thick rope cordon, turned, and held out a hand to Lex. If the absence of light and the roped-off entrance weren't blatant enough, the clearly-displayed 'CLOSED' sign certainly did the trick.

"This ship looks closed," she stated flatly.

Although Lex was slowly becoming accustomed to the concept of magical places being hidden-in-plain-sight, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of trepidation at meeting this man on an eerie, deserted pier and following him onto a shady ship. Yes, he was an attractive, magical policeman, but that didn't stop the obnoxious safety-alert from whirring through her mind - _STRANGER DANGER, STRANGER DANGER!_

Seth mercifully interrupted the broadcast and explained casually, "Of course it looks closed - how else would they keep the no-maj out?"

Lex sighed in defeat and grasped his hand. She was more-than-capable of stepping over a rope on her own, but she really didn't think heels were meant to be worn on gangplanks…

After helping her up the steady incline and onto the wooden deck of the ship, Seth finally released her hand and proceeded towards the ship's helm. While Lex followed, carefully avoiding the cracks between the long, wooden planks of the deck, she held her hand to the side and discreetly flexed her tingling palm and fingers, which still throbbed with Seth's lingering warmth.

Seth stopped in front of the helm, withdrew his wand, and tapped it against the second, then third, and then first spoke of the giant, wooden wheel. Suddenly, the two-sided wheel began to turn, loosening a clump of rope wrapped between the two sides of the wheel. A loose end of the manila rope snaked past Lex's wedge-heels and slithered in a wide spiral pattern around the motionless couple. Lex was just starting to feel uncomfortable, when the rope coil finally lifted up, bending to form an arched, empty doorway towards the center of the ship.

Seth struck a gallant pose and offered Lex the crook of his arm. As she hid an imminent eye-roll, Lex hooked her arm through his, stepped through the rope-door, and then… into a M.C. Escher painting.

Up, down, start, finish - it was all _very_ confused. She seemed to simultaneously stand at the bottom of a flight of wooden stairs, beneath an open hatch, hang upside-down from a wooden ceiling, and lay parallel to the wooden deck at her back. Finally, the world swiveled into an upright, sensical position once more as she followed Seth another couple of steps forward - or was it down?

Regardless of current Cardinal directions, Cartesian coordinates, or laws of physics, Lex soon found herself climbing a creaking set of aged, wooden stairs. Candlelight shivered against the wooden walls as wax dripped and pooled against the glass of the enclosed, antique torches lining the cramped hall. At the top of the stairs stood a polished, mahogany door with two frosted, circular windows and a hefty, mahogany ship-wheel strapped to its face. The entire door was encrusted with golden barnacles, bronze seaweed, and silver shells arranged into the shapes of various star constellations.

As they approached the top stair landing, the luxurious wheel began to spin, stopping at last to split into two halves so that the heavy doors might swing open and into the ship.

As a bright, eloquent dining room slowly became visible ahead, Seth turned to Lex, inquiring conversationally, "So, Lex, what have you been busying yourself with this week?"

Her forehead creased as she eyed Seth grumpily. They'd finally reached a less-creepy part of the ship, complete with the implication of food, and he just _had_ to dive into another questioning-spree. Lex, of course, had no intention of explaining to him that she was currently on emergency medical leave, that she'd spent her entire week planning a break-in, or that she was, just this morning, conspiring with a billionaire to further infiltrate Seth's wizarding world.

"Auror Roman," she groaned, "I'm sure you're valiantly resisting the urge to interrogate me as we speak, but I agreed to a _date_ , not another inappropriate work function."

The couple stepped into a warmly-lit, dining room foyer, which overlooked a spacious ballroom below. Directly ahead, a regal podium stood before a partial dividing wall, while, off to the right, a short flight of carpeted wooden steps led down onto the busy ballroom floor.

Blue flames danced in silver chandeliers hanging from the ballroom's low ceiling, and authentic-looking naval paraphernalia decorated the walls. The ballroom's mahogany flooring was checkered with large, circular dining tables, each covered with a lacy, white tablecloth and topped by a silver oil-lamp.

"Well, Lex, I thought asking questions is what people are _supposed to_ do on dates," Seth retorted.

They ambled over to the unattended mahogany podium, while the entrance doors creaked shut behind them. Unlike the ballroom below, the candles in the foyer were lit by warm, orange flames.

Lex gave a dry laugh and responded pointedly, "Questions, perhaps, but on how many of your _other_ dates had you already filed a _full police report_ on your coerced companion?"

A gust of wind swept through the foyer, and the orange lights flickered to blue as a grey ghost stepped through the dividing wall and came to hover behind the podium. The man wore a grey, powdered wig and a tasseled colonial uniform. He peered disinterestedly at Seth over a rather-large, beak-like nose.

"Reservation name?" he asked, his nasally voice curling over each 'r' in a rather pompous manner.

"Roman," Seth answered curtly.

The ghost-host flipped through a glowing, translucent book on the podium, running a gloved finger over each transparent page. Finally, his finger stilled.

"Ah, yes. Here we are," he drawled, snapping the book abruptly shut, "Follow me!"

While Seth and Lex followed the ghost-host to a glowing table nestled in a corner decorated with engraved nautical bells, Seth resumed their previous conversation.

"I haven't been on any other dates," he answered seriously.

He then chivalrously pulled out a chair for Lex and watched as she plopped inelegantly onto the seat.

"What?" she gasped, twisting around and craning her head back to get a better read of Seth's face, "You're kidding me. No way…"

Seth merely shrugged and strode over to his side of the table.

"I have been preoccupied with other matters," he explained, appearing utterly unconcerned.

"Clearly," she laughed and reached for the menu, which had just appeared, along with a glass goblet of water, on a doily in front of her.

Lex hid her expression of shock behind the propped-up menu. A handsome, employed, occasionally-charming man of Seth's age having never dated was surprising enough, but… spontaneously-appearing solid objects and spontaneously-appearing consumable liquids? Magic had just flaunted its sophisticated version of both a Star Trek transporter _and_ a Star Trek food-replicator…

 _Oh, yes! Beam me up, Scotty!_ Lex thought giddily, grinning from ear-to-ear as she imagined informing Freddy about this latest "minor" display of magic.

She quickly selected an intriguing dish of magical-squid-ink seafood pasta and settled her menu onto the table. Seth had apparently decided upon his meal quickly as well, because he was currently staring at her intensely from across the table. The situation was entirely too reminiscent of their first, interrogation-filled meeting, so Lex swiftly steered the conversation away from herself.

"Yes, well, Seth, you've already questioned me plenty," she began, folding her hands over her closed menu, "and yet I know next-to-nothing about you."

His mouth twisted into an amused grin. Then, he casually leaned forward onto his elbows, allowing the candlelight to flicker in the pupils of his hazel eyes.

"So… you wish to interrogate me, Lex?" he suggested, his voice deep and husky.

Lex ignored the flutter of her heart in her breast and fought back a blush with an indignant scoff. Just when she thought they could pass the night slinging sarcastic retorts back-and-forth, Seth Roman revisited this flirtatious nonsense. Well, he certainly kept her on her toes…

"Sure. Why not?" she said breathily, "It's only fair."

Seth's gaze swept from her eyes to her clasped hands and back up again.

Finally, he leaned back into his chair and continued, "Well… what do you wish to know?"

Lex fiddled with a gilded corner of her menu, while she considered the opportunity she'd been granted. She had so many questions about the wizarding world, but none of them seemed particularly-prudent to ask an Auror. And, of course, Lex somewhat-reluctantly admitted to herself that she was _slightly curious_ about Seth Roman's personal life anyway.

While she traced with her finger the silver-foil lines of the star map depicted on her menu cover, Lex mused aloud, "How about… Hmm… Let's start with an easy one. What made you decide to become an Auror?"

Before he could answer, however, the orange flames of their silver oil-lamp flickered to blue and the temperature dropped to a slight chill, announcing the arrival of yet another ghost. The plump, disheveled ghost-man that appeared would have been mostly gut, but two rather noticeable holes appeared just above and just below his navel, respectively. The ghost's heavy-lidded eyes, as well as the dark circles below them, lent the impression that he was perpetually sleepy, yet his behavior was oddly skittish as he cast several shifty glances at another glowering ghost across the ballroom.

When the ghost finally noticed Lex's curious gaze at his absent abdomen, however, he swiftly turned, patting down his dusty uniform as he twittered, "Oh! Oh, no… is my - is my hole showing again? Mustn't - mustn't do _that_ now, eh?"

Chuckling uncomfortably, he tugged on a ghostly chain, which apparently looped through his missing midsection. Either end of the chain was attached to a cracked cannonball large enough to fill or cover one of his holes. He'd wrapped this long chain around his midriff several times, so that it now acted as a makeshift belt of sorts.

"Me name is Neil Harvey," he squealed uncertainly, patting at his sides as he cast another nervous glance at the intimidating ghost across the room, "I'll be - I'll be your server tonight. If tha-that's alright with you."

"That would be _wonderful_ , Mr. Harvey," said Seth, while he narrowed his eyes, and irritably tapped his fingers against the table.

"Right, then -" the nervous ghost-man continued, but his attempt at a polite nod immediately sent his sailor's cap flying disruptively onto the table.

Across the ballroom, the well-dressed but poorly-mannered ghost-spooking-ghost scowled at Neil. He stood from the game of cards he was currently playing against a jolly Navy watchman and angrily shook a glowing, grey cutlass in the air. This, of course, sent Neil into a shaking fit, and he groped wildly at the tablecloth, accidentally flinging his hand through Lex's water goblet, before finally retrieving his uniform cap from the table.

"Oh - oh, dear! So-so-sorry 'bout that," he stammered in his thick British accent.

"Don't worry about it, Neil," sighed Lex as she peered at her glass of chilled, sloshing water suspiciously, "Who is that man you keep looking at?"

Neil twisted the sailor cap in his hands and hung his head as he moaned, "Well, ye see, milady, in life that man was me Captain - Captain Thomas Truxtun, ye see. The Captain is not a man to be trifled with, and well… I fell asleep on me watch… in the middle of a sea-battle…"

"How do you fall asleep in the middle of a _battle_?" Seth laughed scornfully.

Lex narrowed her eyes and shot a harsh glare across the table, effectively warning Seth to _cut it out_. Why did he have to be so rude anyway? Seriously, sometimes this man was about as charming as a Scourer bomb.

"Well, sir… Truth be told, I'm a bit of a coward," he mumbled, before shrugging and twisting his face into a painfully-apologetic smile, "In any event, the Lieutenant ran me through for me cowardice, and then the Captain had me tied to a cannon and shot to sea."

"What?! That's barbaric!" gasped Lex, her gaze involuntarily shifting to Neil's rotund half-belly, "And, the crew just went along with that?"

"Why, aye, milady!" said Neil, furrowing his brow in confusion, "That's the way of the sailor! The proper Navy punishment for such things, that is."

While Lex was still shaking her head in disbelief, Seth propped his elbows against the arms of his regal chair, lounging majestically as he cleared his throat and inquired, "Mr. Harvey, are you prepared to take our order?"

Lex simply rolled her eyes at Seth, while he delivered his order, speaking loudly over Neil's stammered _Of-of course, sir_. She wasn't sure if Seth was just particularly-irritable tonight or if he was, for whatever reason, not particularly fond of ghosts. Of course, there was always the third option - that Seth Roman was an incorrigible _ass_. Yes, yes, she could always reliably default to that explanation…

As soon as Lex had finished ordering her pasta, Neil Harvey carefully clutched his translucent cannonballs to his translucent body and gave a clumsy bow. Then, after releasing his grip on his weighty cannonballs, he floated hurriedly around the ghost of Captain Truxtun and passed through a pair of polished kitchen doors, his cannonballs noisily clacking together the entire way.

When Lex finally returned her gaze to the table, Seth apparently took it as his cue to resume the personal interrogation.

"Lex, in answer to your earlier question…. why I became an Auror…" he drawled, idly drumming his fingers against the arms of his chair, "Penance is the answer, I suppose. This world is full of corruption and injustice… People are far too willing to take the easy-way-out in pursuit of their own selfish desires. I accept that I am not exempt from this corruption, but I also accept that it is my duty to do whatever I can to make it right."

As he completed his surprisingly-philosophical explanation, Seth's eyes gleamed with a burning intensity that only further intensified in the reflected firelight. It certainly wasn't the response she was expecting from this moody policeman. If anything, it left her with even more questions…

Of course, it wouldn't do for this interrogation to turn into a volley of tactless questions about someone's personal trauma. That sounded exactly like the sort of thing Seth would do - and _someone_ had to set a good example around here!

"Penance?" she asked tentatively, her gaze wavering over his brooding expression, "Penance for anything in particular, Seth?"

The glint in his eyes turned steely and dangerous, his grin not quite reaching his eyes as he demanded, "How about another question?"

Fortunately, the sudden disappearance of their menus provided ample interruption for the awkwardly-intense moment. Lex dipped her head, avoiding Seth's penetrating gaze, and instead watched intently as a frilled, porcelain bowl appeared out of thin air on the table.

"Wow. That was… fast… " she murmured, while Seth raised his wand to flag the waiter, and Neil shambled over to take Seth's order for two glasses of wine.

Lex turned her attention back to her meal, where her grumbling stomach insisted it belonged. Multi-colored drizzles of ink dripped decoratively over a heap of linguine, impressive claws, shells, and even an edible pearl garnish. A salty, savory aroma wafted from her pasta dish, along with a medley of maritime smells that must have been magically-induced to set the mood. She wanted to dig in _immediately_ , but Lex instead resigned herself to the arduous task of attempting to eat an appetizing meal "properly," while seated in front of a relative stranger.

She unfurled her napkin, set it delicately upon her lap, and finally broke the silence, saying, "Alright… Umm… Do you have any hobbies?"

Then, with a subtle smile, Lex began twirling pasta around a fine set of cutlery. She felt quite pleasantly mischievous, prepared as she was for her questions to distract Seth from his prime-cut steak, while she blissfully chomped away at her meal.

"No," he answered quite anticlimactically.

 _Wow, Lex, that move was completely ineffective_ , she thought, with an inward groan, _You suck at being evil!_

"None?" she said, pausing with her pasta-wrapped fork held mid-air, "There's absolutely _nothing_ you like to do for fun?"

"Nothing that doesn't have immediate practical applications," he said curtly, before elegantly sliding a perfectly-square cut of his cutlet into his perfectly-formed mouth.

Trying to ignore her own childish irritation that Seth had _still_ managed to start eating first, while she yapped on unfed, she said, "Err, okay - are there any _practical_ skills that you enjoy in particular?"

"No," he answered curtly again, the corners of his lips twitching into a smug smirk as he took another bite of his perfectly-cut steak.

Lex's stomach growled.

"Geez, Seth - you really need to get out more!" she exclaimed in exasperation, before finally shoving the long-awaited first bite of her dinner into her watering mouth.

On her plate, pools of the magical squid-ink wiggled into beautiful, intricate patterns as she ate. In between bites, she sipped on her glass of Mamajuana, a rich Caribbean wine that had appeared at the table shortly after Seth's drink order.

"Okay, since we've established you're _married-to-your-work_ , Seth…" she said, pausing to take another sip of the sweet red wine, before resuming her interrogation, "What is your family like?"

"Could you be more specific?" he requested, cocking an eyebrow and flashing her a dazzling smile.

Lex refused to be distracted by his pearly-white teeth and clarified instead, "Uh, let's see… Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes, many brothers, and many sisters, but we're not very close," he answered, with his usual answer-that-hardly-clarifies-anything.

Lex had a difficult time picturing Seth with siblings. Usually people with siblings and, thus, added social experience, seemed more… normal? Of course, it was entirely possible that a ridiculously-large family would have had the opposite, anti-socializing effect… Ugh, she wished his sibling headcount had been a bit more specific than 'many,' but clearly Seth preferred to dance around the details.

"Do you not get along with one another?" she inquired cautiously.

"We get along well-enough," he grinned, adding, "I suppose it's more that we're all just very competitive and _married-to-our-work_ , as you say."

An entire household of workaholic Romans certainly was a terrifying thought. She promptly pushed aside her imaginings of an intense, marching, Auror squadron of Seth clones and decided to switch gears. There had to be some conversational topic that didn't lead back to his work…

"I see…" she began, trailing off into a calculated pause, before asking casually, "Where did you all go to school?"

"We were all home-schooled," he replied, sipping delicately on his wine.

Ugh! In the 'No-Maj Relations' section of Flourish & Fontaine, information on magical schooling had been understandably sparse. Lex had hoped to gain at least _some_ insight into the magical education system with his answers, but, alas, Seth had thwarted her once again! Well, at least she'd managed to peel back another layer of the stinky onion that was Seth Roman's cryptic, enigmatic personality…

"Wow. Your parents must be really impressive to home-school so many children at once," she said, genuinely impressed, "- and, successfully by the look of it."

"Indeed…" he replied, raising an eyebrow in amused surprise, "Did you just pay me a compliment, Lex?"

"Well, no. _Technically_ , I just paid your _parents_ a compliment," she countered.

Seth, however, seemed anything but convinced. Truly, it required little-to-no encouragement to keep this man hopeful and persistent.

Smirking coyly at her over the top of his wine glass, he teased, "Ah, of course. Silly me! I suppose, when we first made our deal, I should have bargained for some pleasant compliments in addition to the hour."

Heaving out one great, dramatic sigh, Lex responded simply by mirroring his movement, raising her own wine-glass to her lips and taking one long sip.

Honestly, if they had met on different terms, an entirely different version of Lex might have been sitting here, holding an entirely agreeable conversation - compliments and all. Under the current circumstances, however, she frankly could _not_ afford to let an overzealous law enforcement officer close to her illegal-alien-ass…

Since she had been seated facing the wall of antique nautical bells, she had to swivel in her seat to finally take in the full view of the ballroom. This had the added benefit of distancing herself from Seth, his flirtations, and his hopelessly-attractive face.

Deep-blue light emanated from the majority of tables in the crowded ballroom, because most of the tables were, indeed, currently occupied by small gatherings of glowing, grey ghosts. Ghosts sniffed at plates full of disgusting, rotten food, ghosts cheerfully splashed beverages about their tables, and ghosts hooted and hollered over tabletop games involving transparent cards and dice. Lex felt that relegating in-demand restaurant seating to this rowdy host of dead people, whose wallets were probably resting-in-peace next to their skeletons, was _kind of_ a waste of resources, but, hey, at least they provided ambiance.

An involuntary shiver overtook her as a cold, tingling sensation traveled the length of her spine. In addition to making flames bluer, the ghostly clientele seemed to make the realm of the living colder.

Hmm… were they sucking heat-energy out of the room? No, endothermic fires wouldn't make sense… Blue flames burned hotter than orange flames, so something else must be responsible for the color change, as well as the perceived chill.

 _Color is just how humans sense lightwaves of varying wavelengths_ , she mused silently, _So, something other than energy-drain must be affecting the lengths of these lightwaves to change their color…_

Lex was certainly glad the evidence didn't appear to support the theory that greedy ghosts were literally draining energy from the room. That sounded far too much like the creepy Dementors she'd read about…

Yes, thankfully, Lex was aware of several reasons a human being might not _really_ be cold but still experience the _sensation_ of being cold anyway, such as high blood-pressure, low blood-sugar, and nerve damage. Of course, she had just eaten a substantial meal, so low blood-sugar was unlikely. A spontaneous case of extremely-high blood-pressure was within the realm of magical possibilities, but it wasn't likely either.

As for nerve damage, if ghosts really caused permanent nerve damage, this restaurant was _seriously_ not up-to-code. However, she wasn't ready to tattle to the magical health inspector just yet.

Ghosts had clearly preserved their living consciousness in some fashion, and, so far, the only difference she'd observed between ghost-consciousness and her own was that a ghost consciousness lacked a body. Thus, it stood to reason that ghosts might really be disembodied, self-sustaining nervous systems that used to reside in living human bodies. The human nervous system was a complex network communicating by way of electrochemical signals. So, what if the magical mechanisms that held these disembodied ghosts together produced some sort of electrochemical wave-interference that affected "normal" human nervous systems, as well as light?

Lex added ghost EMF to her rapidly-growing list of 'Things-to-Tell-Freddy.' Then, shivering slightly, she remembered that she was still sitting across the table from a living person with whom she was supposed to socialize.

"There are so many ghosts here," she said blandly, dishonoring all of her subsequent scientific musings with a statement that was such a complete 'no-brainer.'

"It _is_ one of the most haunted locations in the city," began Seth, pausing suddenly to ask, "Are you cold?"

Lex had been so possessed with her musings on possible soul-containment procedures that she had neglected to notice when her shivers turned into violent trembles and chattering teeth.

 _Perhaps I should invest in a 'Be Back Soon, Having an Out-of-Body Experience' sign for future brainstorm sessions,_ she thought, sighing inwardly.

She rubbed her goosebump-covered arms as she chattered to Seth, "Yes, it's kind of chilly in here. I'm fine tho-"

His chair was emptied in a split-second as he swiftly rose from his chair and walked around the table, while casually removing his cloak. She almost groaned in irritation, because, really, the entire motion was far too graceful and looked far better-suited to the runway than a date with the wizarding world's newest no-maj squatter.

Coarse fingertips lightly brushed along the nape of her neck as he wrapped his cloak securely about her shoulders.

"Here -" he said softly, a burst of his warm breath rustling a few loose strands of her hair, while the deep bass of his voice resonated smoother-than-ever in her right ear, "Unfortunately, this ghost _infestation_ makes climate-control a nightmare. Even no-maj can feel the chill around here."

"Thank you, Seth…" Lex offered hesitantly.

 _That was so…_ she thought slowly, searching for the right words to describe her current emotional state, _cliché. Yes, yes… cliché. Totally… lame, dude. Not into it._

If it was ever scientifically possible to mentally split and physically slap one's self out of denial, Lex would surely have been part of the very first round of human trials. However, no-maj technology being what it was, Lex clung to her blatant lie for dear life. Dating! And romance! No, no, there were more important things…

"You're very welcome, Lex," continued Roman, grinning in a manner that Lex did _not_ find endearing _whatsoever_ , "Since this interrogation is surely on-record, I must confess, I have a vested interest in keeping you warm… I, of course, have _no_ desire to give you one more thing to complain to PRQA about."

Lex was quite relieved that his chivalry had ended and that she once again had something to protest.

"Complain! I do _not_ complain that much -" she started and then stopped herself mid-sentence.

Deep laughter sounded from across the table. Seth appeared thoroughly amused by her reaction, and Lex once again marveled at her own social clumsiness.

"Oh! I see. You just made a joke… " she said, chuckling, "Careful, Seth - you're coming dangerously-close to enjoying yourself without any _practical_ applications."

Seth slurped down the rest of the Mamajuana in his wine glass. Was it just her imagination, or did he seem to be getting tipsy? Though his movements were still as graceful as ever, his posture seemed somewhat more relaxed, and his obnoxious commentary seemed to be somewhat less calculated.

"Perhaps you're right. I wonder…" he mused aloud as he leaned forward and laid his warm palm across Lex's hand, stroking it as he finished, "is being close to you always so… dangerously-enjoyable?"

 _Yep… It's not my imagination,_ she thought, rolling her eyes, _He's definitely more obnoxious_.

"I suppose that depends on what you find enjoyable, Seth," she sighed, before explaining in a falsely-pleasant tone, "For example, if you're, say, a masochist, I'm sure you'll find it plenty enjoyable to keep on touching me."

Chuckling, Seth slowly withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair.

"Perhaps you'll reconsider," said the forever-smirking Seth Roman, "No physical contact will make it fairly difficult for us to dance."

"Dance?" squeaked Lex as her entire train of thought screeched to a halt.

Sure, her body was practically as-good-as-new, but she was positive that her dancing was still as-good-as-never. What could she say? Public displays of, well, _anything_ had never been a real priority of hers, and she'd much rather dive down another top-security chimney shaft than demonstrate for Seth Roman her own stiff interpretation of the performing arts…

"Yes. The Constellation's crowning feature is the dancefloor on the upper-deck," Seth hummed, uncrossing his legs and scooting his chair out from under the table.

 _Clack Clack Clack_

The steady clack of cannonballs knocking together announced Neil Harvey, ghost-waiter extraordinaire, long before his lumpy, see-through body came into view. Neil clapped twice, and the emptied bowl, plate, and wine-glasses disappeared from their table as suddenly as they had appeared.

"Aye, milady! The good sir is right, he is - ye mustn't neglect the upper-deck," Neil interjected with uncharacteristic vigor, though he began stuttering again when Captain Truxtun looked up from his hand of cards, "Re-rest assured, the view is to - to _die_ for… and, I would know!"

 _Clack Clack Clack_

As Neil's clacking faded into the distance, along with his chilly, luminescent aura, Seth stood, pushed in his chair, and offered his arm to Lex.

"So, it's settled," he stated, flashing her a dashing smile, "Shall we?"

"Don't we need to pay the bill or something first?" she muttered, reluctant to hasten her public humiliation.

"The Constellation is reservation-only. Re-rest assured," Seth stammered, in a mock-British accent, "I have taken care of it, milady."

Lex couldn't help but chuckle appreciatively at his silly imitation of Neil. She finally rose from her seat, looped her arm through Seth's, and, with each step, placed her heels very carefully as she struggled to keep pace with his long stride. Together, they crossed the wide ballroom and climbed a set of large, wooden steps, which lead to a darkened doorway at the top. Lively music wafted through the open door, growing louder and louder as they climbed.

"You're a strange man, Seth Roman," Lex teased, her tone surprisingly affectionate.

"Ah, Lex - strange is just another way of describing something unfamiliar waiting to be experienced," he said, his silky voice slipping smoothly through the darkness of the corridor.

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dimly-lit stairwell, but it didn't take any real skills of deduction to suspect that Seth Roman currently wore a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Fortunately, her own expression was likewise hidden by the darkness, and Seth currently couldn't see her completely _un_ suspected smile.

"Oh, really? And, you really think I'm just _waiting_ to experience you, Seth?" she scoffed as they both stepped onto the top landing and paused beneath a shady awning that sheltered the stairwell entrance.

Pale moonlight now drew drifting, silvery streaks across Seth's fine features and set his hazel eyes twinkling against the night. A gentle breeze, rich with the scent of salt and brine, had blown his loose bangs away from his face. Thus, Lex was now fully-capable of seeing him send her an utterly-ridiculous, _not-at-all_ -seductive wink.

"What matters is that you're thinking it _now_ ," he practically purred.

Her subsequent scowl was practically reflexive.

"You're _unbelievable_ ," she cried out in disbelief.

"Strange… unbelievable… Well, Lex, your crossword vocabulary may be lacking, but you certainly know plenty of synonyms for calling me 'astonishing,'" he gasped, "Careful - you're _dangerously-close_ to making me blush!"

Throwing her arms up in frustration, Lex groaned, spun on her heels, and immediately fell silent. Whatever retort she had prepared was swiftly forgotten upon her first sight of the upper-deck.

Unlike the deck on the no-maj side of the ship, this deck was sheltered by unfurled, wind-filled sails and overlooked a vast expanse of open sea. A full moon dipped low on the horizon, reflecting across the dark-blue waters, but, most impressively, a scattering of stars hung suspended mid-air and even beneath the water. The stars collectively warped about the ship's sleek hull, tracing constellations upwards towards an inky-black patch of sky above.

There was no shoreline in sight, but still this magical upper-deck was anything but deserted. Dance partners from nearly-every-century-since-the-Dark-Ages twirled about a designated dancefloor and, even more splendidly, about the peaceful waters surrounding the ship. As spectral shawls, ghostly gowns, cloak hems, and boot soles sailed around the watery dancefloor, each brush of the ethereal clothing or the ethereal ghosts against the water sent glowing rings rippling across the surface of the sea.

"Wow… This is - this is amazing!" she sighed, "It's so beautiful."

When the ocean breeze strengthened, the gentle wind whistled through the ship's billowing sails like soft whispers, while various wooden appendages creaked and groaned. Somewhere within those whistles and creaks, Lex could have sworn she heard a jolly voice whisper _Thanks, Lassie_.

"Huh. Well, I see I've finally found something that impresses you! Come," Seth ordered, clearly pleased with himself, "the view from the bow is even better."

 _What is it with magicals, and creepy, disembodied voices_ , she wondered, peering at each of the billowing sails in turn, _Is this really a_ talking _ghost-ship?_

Finally, she turned and followed Seth towards the bow, gaping in awe at all the lively quirks of a ship overrun by the dead.

The magical ship's helm stood near the stairwell entrance. Though no sailor, living or dead, was at the helm, the giant, twelve-spoked wheel spun back-and-forth in near-constant motion. Silver-inlaid etchings of star patterns decorated each spoke, suggesting the wheel had its own unique form of navigation, and every couple of seconds the wheel would jerk this way or that, as if the ship was steering itself towards some mysterious, exotic destination.

Rounding the small, wooden stairwell enclosure, Lex gawked at an elderly wizard with a bushy, white beard, who was arguing with a rather depressed-looking ghost-sailor. The ghost-sailor wore a severed noose around his neck like a macabre necklace, and spit flew through his glowing body as the old wizard shook a broom furiously at him and shouted about 'ectoplasm all over the place,' while the ghost-sailor moaned on about how the wizard would 'understand soon enough.'

Seth ushered Lex past the spectral spectacle and next past the noisy deck that served as the designated dancefloor. They hugged the railings as they walked to avoid both the solid, living dancers, and the ice-bath-inducing ghosts.

A line of silver candelabra perched precariously along the ship's railings, and, as they strolled past the flickering, blue flames that arose from each candle, a cluster of faded, blue shapes suddenly became visible in the sky beyond the ship. Thin, shimmering outlines of various animals, humans, and weaponry were now drawn around specific star constellations, and Lex really, _really_ wished there was a safe way to explain to Seth that there was this magical thing called Google and that she desperately needed it to search for some star charts right now. However, the shimmering shapes disappeared as soon as the couple stepped away from the glowing, blue lights, and Lex smartly kept her smartphone tucked away in her purse.

Finally, Seth and Lex reached the bow of the ship and proceeded to lean carefully over the railings. Lex nearly jumped back in shock when several howling ghosts shot out of a series of portside cannons and "cannon-balled" into the waters below. Some of the ghost-dancers paused to shake a fist or cast a glare in the direction of the disruptive ghosts, but, soon enough, the ghost-dancers resumed their waltz across the water, and the entire scene returned to its serene, majestic state.

Glancing over at Seth, Lex was surprised to find him peering disinterestedly at the woodgrain of one of the decorative ornaments on the bow. The gold-painted starfish wiggled and flapped its wooden arms against the ship's side, but Seth only showed his first real flicker of interest, when he looked up and caught Lex staring.

"So, none of this impresses you?" she demanded suddenly, finding his disinterest in the midst of such magnificence unfathomable, "You're telling me that you really look at all this and just say _meh_?"

The moon's silver glow had repainted this hidden world of theirs in bold contrast. Seth's hair was especially-dark as it waved in the wind, his skin was now pearly-white, and the creases surrounding his dark eyebrows and dark lashes were incredibly well-defined as his face settled into, not a smirk, but a genuine smile.

"Well, first of all, I never say ' _meh_ ,'" he said, scolding her playfully, "But, yes, I suppose I don't find this to be very impressive."

"How - how could you…" she began, her disbelief turning her into an opaque, stammering likeness of Neil Harvey, before she finally shook her head clear and asked firmly, "What _do_ you find impressive, Mr. Roman?"

Seth stood taller, summoning himself to almost his full-height as he frowned thoughtfully at the ghosts upon the water.

Finally, he pushed off of the railing, cast a sidelong glance in Lex's direction, and said softly, "I find many things and many people to be impressive - I find you to be impressive, for one."

"Me?" she nearly shouted, although her soft shout was easily drowned out by the loud bagpipes that were now playing themselves on a stage near the dancefloor.

Lex had been prepared for Roman to tell her about a particularly-impressive stack of paperwork or perhaps a particularly-impressive interrogation technique. She most certainly did _not_ expect him to find her to be anything but clumsy, given what little he'd seen of her so far.

"Yes, Lex - you," he laughed, shaking his head, his dark hair blowing in the wind as he turned his face upwards towards a single star, which floated just out of reach, on the very tip of the bow, "You live in a world that's hostile towards you and all of your kind, and yet you persevere. You continue on, you struggle, and you empower yourself anyway. Nothing comes easy to a… squib. So, you _earn_ everything."

In that moment, she felt a bit guilty that Seth thought so highly of a lie. Sure, a squib was just a no-maj with magical connections, so perhaps Seth would find a no-maj in her situation to be even more impressive - but he could never know. As an unwelcome party in this magical world, she would always be hiding behind a web of lies, and the grim realization of that fact filled her with a profound sense of loneliness. Indeed, even while standing side-by-side on an enchanted ship, she and Seth would always be oceans apart. This was the bitter price of such deceptions, she supposed - Seth, Jeremiah, and every other magical she dared to meet would never know who she truly was.

"Oh. Well, thank you, Seth," she said, hiding this sudden pang of sorrow behind a forced smile, "That's very… sweet."

As the deck rocked gently back-and-forth beneath her feet, Lex turned away and focused on the ghostly couples below the ship's bow. A distant organ had replaced the lively bagpipe music with its own mournful tune, and a feathery ghost-man swayed along, while his partner very carefully maneuvered his gloved hands to avoid the dripping tar that continuously oozed down the feathered ghost's backside.

"What do you see, when you look at them?" Seth asked, breaking the silence.

A rowdy linedance suddenly sprung up on the dancefloor, and the participants' loud clamoring threatened to drown out Lex and Seth's conversation. Thus, Seth took the opportunity to draw closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned onto a stretch of railing beside Lex.

His question had cut through her melancholy, guiding her back to her previous state of wonder. Perhaps she couldn't share the truth of her identity with him, but she could certainly share her genuine awe over this place.

"I see… hope. I see proof that there's more to… well, everything. We're not just animals with too many neurons firing," she began, the pale light of the moon and stars seeming to brighten alongside her face as she continued her speech, animated and slightly breathless, "There's a soul - there's a meaning to our existence. And, maybe there's even something to look forward to beyond death. But, if not, I see… a promise. Not even Death could beat down the human spirit, and, yes, even the most formidable, seemingly-impossible, unbreachable barriers can be overcome. Despite all the pain and the ugliness, you can still change your world into something… spectacularly beautiful."

Seth leaned further onto the wooden railing, his hand sliding to rest mere centimeters from hers. A muscular bicep now pressed gently against Seth Roman's own cloak, which was still draped protectively over Lex's shoulders. Lex's muscles tensed from her neck to her now-stiff fingers as she willed herself not to make any awkward movements. Slowly, she careened her head to the side and brought her eyes up to meet Seth's.

His face hovered so close to hers, close enough to feel, against the chill of the late-October night, the heat emanating from his body. This warmth intensified as he leaned closer, their breath intermingling, while his eyes flitted once to her lips and then back to her eyes, fixing her with a long, hard stare. Her cheeks burning and her lips tingling with apprehension, Lex was no longer sure where all of this heat was coming from.

"Why? What do _you_ see when you look at them?" she whispered, inhaling deeply the scents of moist wood, burning candles, and sea salt as she finally caught the breath she'd been holding.

Just as Seth's previous question had transformed _her_ mood, her question discernibly transformed _his_. Seth's eyes practically froze over as his gaze grew icy, his hazel eyes glinting dangerously in the moonlight like cool spheres of dark glass. His lips drawn into a tight line, he shifted his glare down to the water below the bow.

"I see dead people," he stated flatly, his stone-faced expression killing all of Lex's imminent Sixth Sense jokes in the cradle, "Make no mistake, there are corpses in the water, Lex - they're just tied up in pretty, ethereal bows. Down there, I see a floating cemetery of unfinished business, unsolved cases. Gruesome murders, cold betrayals, petty squabbles - each spectre is the result of a foul person, who met a vile, pitiful end. They're _abominations_. Lex, there is an order to things, a natural order. What dies should be dead. Not half-dead, not half-alive - dead."

His fists clenched, and he kneaded them against the wooden railing, while he fumed. Disdain and something curiously akin to guilt wracked his pleasant features, as if he were grappling with his own invisible demons.

"What lives should simply prepare to let go. Everything else is unnatural - it's pure cowardice. Where you see beauty, I see _hideous_ fear. They can't bear to let go of this world, a world which has apparently done so little for them. Instead, they bar themselves from the next. Cowering in an eternally-stagnant half-life is no life at all. So… How could cowards like that change the _world_ , Lex, when they can't even bear to change themselves?"

Despite the warm cloak wrapped snugly about her shoulders, Lex's goosebumps had returned, and the hairs along her arms stood on end, wavering in the slight breeze, as if they too were trembling beneath the tension of this conversation. Seth's question was apparently rhetorical, as he showed no interest in her lack of response. Instead, he stared intently at the ambiguous horizon, releasing a series of calm, heavy exhales into the silence between them.

Approximately four exhales later, Seth appeared to have composed himself once more. He turned his head slightly, peering at her with a steady, sidelong gaze, while he anxiously searched her face for some unknown feature.

Any semblance of anxiety or discomfort appeared incredibly foreign on Seth Roman's perfect face, and Lex was, frankly, very eager to bring the uncomfortable experience to a close.

"So… that's a lot of unfinished business, and unsolved cases out there, huh?" Lex began awkwardly, much-too-aware of the closeness of his lips to hers, "Strange… I thought you liked paperwork."

Seth snorted quite uncharacteristically.

"Yes, well, I suppose even abominations have their redeeming qualities," he said with a soft smile.

Indeed, tonight Lex bore witness to an unexpected maelstrom of emotions from a man whose mood usually ranged from cool smirk to warm smug. She would weather the storm for now, however, because, surely, Seth's obnoxious, irradiating personality would return from behind the clouds soon enough.

"Of course they do," Lex replied, beaming at him as she teased, "As for you… leave it to Seth Roman to look at a romantic, moonlit cruise and see paperwork and overtime!"

As if making reparations for their earlier subtlety, Seth's lips twisted into a positively-wicked smirk as he inquired in a voice drenched in smugness, "But, you think I'm romantic?"

With a short huff, Lex squinted her eyes and scowled playfully at Seth. She noted with some concern that his silly flirtations weren't as obnoxious as before. It was becoming harder and harder to remain agitated - well, at least in any unpleasant sense.

The ship's pipe organ was now wailing through a slow, somber song, its murky melody seeping into the starlit sky. Between the cool flicker of blue candlelight, the icy twinkle of the stars, the soft groan of wooden masts against voluptuous sails, and the warm pocket of air that existed between Seth's cloak, the heat of his body, and herself, Lex felt incredibly comfortable and incredibly uncomfortable all at the same time.

For a few silent, peaceful moments they stood, drinking in the caresses of the salty breeze as it rattled through the sails, swept over wooden floorboards, and ultimately washed over the side of the bow. The clamorous roar of the dancefloor had miraculously faded to a dull hum, the noise drowned out by the soft sighs of her own breathing and Seth's every inhale and exhale. As they basked in their mutual heat, her arm was practically burning where the skin of their arms and shoulders touched, spreading like wildfire to the rest of her body when Seth's hand slipped tentatively over hers, their fingers interlocking.

She felt much too weak to protest or pull away. Her mind had grown as still and expectant as a calm sea, the waves of her thoughts quieted by every flicker of his dark, hazel eyes. Illuminated by the starlight, flecks of blue and green beckoned from deep within his irises, drawing her into their turbulent vortex. The sweet scent of Mamajuana wine reached her nose as his warm breath gusted against her face. This was dangerously-close.

"So… I have a confession to make," she whispered, and even those seven hushed words crashed through the silence like a tidal wave.

Seth's face took on a startled expression as he snapped out of his own thoughtful reverie.

"Yes?" he asked, a nervous edge to his deep voice.

Expending an altogether painful amount of effort, Lex stepped away from Seth, withdrawing her hand as she turned and gazed at the crowded dancefloor.

"I don't really know how to dance. I suppose I can sway… Yes, I'm an excellent sway-er," she babbled, a blush spreading to her cheeks as she awkwardly adjusted her body in search of a natural-looking standing position, "but, if there's anything to that dance that requires footwork, or, I don't know… _coordination_ … I'm going to need a few pointers."

As Seth's booming laughter thrummed against her ears, she finally stole a glance back at her handsome companion. He had recovered far more gracefully than she had, and he now appeared quite relieved and at-ease amidst the shadowy backdrop of the ghost-ship.

"I'm happy to help, though I fear I can only do so much for your coordination. That is, if your frequent accidents and proneness to bruising are anything to go by…" he said slyly, flashing her a roguish grin, while simultaneously offering her his arm as gallantly as a prince.

She attempted another playful scowl, but it was rendered largely ineffective by her distracted interest in the undone top buttons of his form-fitting shirt. If he noticed her interest, however, he mercifully gave no indication and, instead, lead her into the boisterous fray that was the dancefloor.

Lex slipped her arms through the sleeves of Seth's cloak and awkwardly held out her hands. Smiling, he ignored them and simply tugged on her arm, pulling her shoulder-to-shoulder with him, before proceeding to instruct her in the silly ways of the Sailor's Hornpipe jig.

Wooden pipes whistled and a frisky fiddle played as the entire crowd, living and dead, bounced around the wooden deck, imitating sailors through a series of goofy dance moves. Somewhere between pretending to climb ropes, miming the hoisting of sails, and saluting a peg-legged ghost-sailor, Lex forgot to feel clumsy. Perhaps it was simply too amusing to watch Seth tapping his feet against the desk and pretending to hitch up his trousers, but she also quite forgot that she was supposed to be actively distancing herself from Auror Roman.

As the earnest jig built towards a frantic crescendo, the self-playing fiddle flew into a wild frenzy, and Lex laughed and stumbled along to the manic movements. Whenever her heeled feet threatened to slip out from under her, Seth steadied her with his arm.

Without warning, three more fiddles floated into the air and began playing a new song alongside the first. The next few dances, a series of classical concertos, were practically the polar opposites of the Sailor's Hornpipe jig. Though an amused smirk never left his face, Seth patiently coached her in a series of trots, bows, and sinking steps, which he said were collectively known as a minuet.

Partners sometimes held hands during the minuet, and that was supposed to be the fullest extent of any physical contact. However, Lex gripped Seth's hand for dear life as her tired legs began to wobble and even grabbed his arm once or twice for a couple of clumsy spins.

One of the later minuets involved dancing in teams of four, and Lex and Seth were paired with a pair of rather-sickly-looking ghosts. After one severe misstep, Lex managed to tumble headlong into the ghost-lady's glowing bodice, and the ghost's icy gown wisped through Lex's body, leaving her a shivering wreck. Thankfully, after a few mumbled apologies, her body thawed quickly, and the dance ended soon after.

Just when she thought her aching calves could take no more, the impromptu orchestra of magical instruments began playing a slow waltz. Lex very nearly groaned as she watched a few nearby knowledgeable dancers flex their legs expertly as they bobbed up and down to the rhythm. Perhaps it was time to switch to her flat-soled shoes…

Suddenly, Seth slipped an arm around her waist, and lifted her into a close embrace.

She had no choice but to settle her toes onto his as he moved them both through a slow box-step, grinning as he said,"I hope you won't punish me for the added contact, Lex, but perhaps you'd like a break from your flailing."

"Ha!" she laughed, trying not to grin like an idiot and failing miserably, "No, I won't - the deal was I'd only punish you if you were _im_ practically enjoying yourself."

"Oh, well, in that case I should inform you that my enjoyment is _completely_ practical," he countered seriously, although a slight smile played on his lips.

Maybe it was the gentle slopes and curves of his body against hers, or maybe it was the double-embrace of both his warm cloak and his study arms on her back. Maybe it was the soft beat of his heart against her cheek, or maybe it was the delicate notes of the piano keys and the pulsing thrum of the fiddle as the instruments performed their evocative melody. Whatever the reason, Lex forgot practicality.

"What a shame!" she exclaimed, sighing dramatically, "And, here I was, just beginning to crave a little _danger_."

In that moment, Seth Roman might just have set an unparalleled record for sheer amount of smugness packed into a single smirk. His hand slid up her back, supporting her upper body as he skillfully dipped her backwards and bent overtop, his lips hovering mere millimeters from hers.

Each puff of warm air tickled the edges of her lips, the tingles lingering long after he said, "That can be arranged."

Suddenly, the lively bagpipes made their comeback, and Seth whirled her into another lively jig. Lex's coordination had hardly improved, though Seth was impressed with how quickly she'd memorized the steps, and Lex was, perhaps, a bit too pleased by his praise.

Countless dances and several hopeless stumbles later, they found themselves once again dancing a slow waltz, and Seth once again allowed Lex to perch on his toes as they danced.

"So, how am I doing?" he asked, smiling down at her contented expression.

"Well, you're certainly a great… dancer," she supplied lamely, unwilling to reveal her much-less-appropriate thoughts.

"I meant with my first date," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "I notice you're no longer counting down the seconds…"

Even if he _was_ a potential threat to her infiltration endeavors, Lex really didn't have the heart to cheat him out of the truth. She'd just have to find a way to recover from all of this romance later.

"I'm… dangerously-close to enjoying myself," she admitted.

Seth delicately ran his fingers through her hair, and neatly tucked the loose strands behind her right ear, before bringing his palm to rest firmly against her right cheek. Once more, his right hand crept up the small of her back, and cradled her as his face dove downward, lips reaching for hers. The delicate, pink skin of her lips brushed against his smooth wetness, her eyelids eased shut, and she couldn't help but pucker as -

She jumped back in fright, screeching, after an icy-cold wave doused the entire moment in its chilling embrace. A string of devilish cackles issued across the dancefloor as the ghost-boy with the bloodied apron scurried around other ghosts, purposely ran through every living person in sight, and finally cannon-balled over the side of the deck.

"WHY, YOU LITTLE…" roared Seth, fists clenched and a murderous look upon his face.

The ghost-boy had been the first to "greet" Lex when she had arrived at the harbor, and now she supposed he was quite fittingly the one to remind her when it was finally time to leave. Though the sky did not seem to reflect the passage of time, her sore body certainly did - they must have been dancing for hours.

"It's fine, Seth," she said, gently touching his arm, before adding regretfully, "It's so late anyways… I should be getting home."

Seth nodded, and masterfully bottled his fury. However, as they ambled over to the stairwell, she caught a few short snippets of Seth's furious muttering beneath his breath.

 _...little see-through twerp_ … _come back here so I can murder his ass again…_

Lex promptly bit her bottom lip, and held back the laughter, which threatened to insue.

When they finally climbed over the gangplank rope cordon, exiting The Constellation, Lex realized that it was much later than she had originally thought - in fact, it was quite early. Most of the waterfront businesses were closed, and the only pedestrians that remained appeared to be leaving the few open bars.

Seth had certainly gotten much more than the hour he'd bargained for, and it was certainly far too dangerous for her to walk home at this hour. Thus, Lex was exceedingly grateful when he offered to walk her home. She supposed they could've taken a taxi or a broom or whatever magical transportation would have been logical here, but neither of them objected to the obviously-inefficient solution.

Any reasonably healthy person could have walked from the harbor to her apartment in approximately fifteen minutes, but Lex and Seth took nearly thirty, stopping so that Lex could change her shoes and waiting at every single crosswalk even though the streets were mostly empty. Finally, after finishing a lovely conversation about how The Constellation earned its nickname, "The Yankee Racehorse," the couple came to the main entrance of Lex's apartment complex.

"So, I, uh, suppose you have fulfilled the terms of our agreement," Seth said brusquely, while he propped open the door to the main lobby and Lex paused in the doorway, "As agreed, I will leave you alone from now on."

His expression was carefully-neutral, but Lex believed that she'd seen enough of his rapidly-changing moods at this point to know when he was uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she found herself in a likewise uncomfortable position - she had no idea what to do about this situation. Should she let him down easy or should she encourage this further? Her heart was currently wrestling with her head, and, until the victor of this conflict was decided, Lex's inner struggle would continue to manifest itself in the form of her current, awkward, fidgeting body.

"Right. I'm totally… looking forward to that…" she began half-heartedly, noting Seth's grim smile with a pang of remorse, before she added, "even though, I have to admit, tonight was surprisingly… not terrible."

Since Lex's body now wedged open the lobby door, Seth had released his hold and taken a few polite steps back. Now, he stood with his hands shoved deep into his pant pockets, shifting his weight back-and-forth, as if he were still swaying to The Constellation's music.

"Perfect. Not terrible is what I strive for…" he joked, though the joke fell flat and his smile looked rather pained.

She chuckled mirthlessly, "Of course… you wouldn't want more dating woes reported to PRQA, right? Ha…"

"Exactly. So, uh… maybe, I'll see you around," he stated, his tone cheerful, but his doubtful expression decidedly not.

"It's possible," she replied, willing herself to just turn around and leave, now that their business had concluded.

However, not a single muscle responded to the supposed will of her brain. When had Alexandra Austin ever been good at letting go?

"Do you ever go to The Bloody Banshee?" she blurted out, and then attempted to salvage her moment of weakness by leaning casually into the door handle and plastering a hopefully-nonchalant expression onto her face.

"No, uh, last time was my first visit…" Seth said slowly, his brows furrowing quizzically, "But I was… planning on stopping by there more often - you know, so I can work on 'getting-out-more,' as you say."

"Of course. You should. Definitely… I totally know what I'm talking about. I'm, like, the expert on impractical, work-unrelated fun," she said, laughing awkwardly.

Seth looked about as confused as Lex currently felt. What was she trying to do anyway? And what the heck was she babbling about?

After approximately twenty seconds of awkward silence, Seth nodded seriously and turned to leave. Gripped by a sudden, inexplicable panic, she hurriedly resumed the conversation.

"So, um, these pub visits," she started abruptly as Seth spun around and appraised her with a sweeping glance, "they wouldn't happen to be taking place around six, or seven, or… eight, on Monday-Wednesday-Friday, would they?"

"Actually, yes… I get off work around six on Friday," he answered cautiously, before some awareness blossomed within the busy gears of his ticking mind, and he added with a slight smile, "And… Wednesday… Monday. You know, I figure I have a lot of 'getting-out-more' to catch up on."

"Well, you know, that's _such_ a coincidence, because I needed to stop by to check on Wyomi on Friday. It's like we can't get away from each other!" Lex said, shamelessly lying on all counts.

"You can't get away from Wyomi?" asked a thoroughly-amused Seth.

"No!" she laughed, kicking her foot nervously against the open door as she continued her flustered babbling, "No, I meant I can't get away from you. I mean, I _can_. Of course, I can get away from you… I guess. I just meant it's so crazy how we keep running into each other… you know?"

"Yes, indeed. So crazy. Imagine that," Seth agreed, his broad grin putting him firmly on the 'warm smug' end of his emotional spectrum, "I just can't escape your complaining, can I?"

"No, Seth," she scoffed indignantly, gesturing wildly with her free arm as she continued dramatically, "It is _I_ who cannot escape! During this difficult transition of yours to, you know, _not working_ for a few hours each day, I'll be so unfortunately available… Ugh, just sitting there, totally vulnerable, whenever you get that itch to interrogate someone."

"Ah, yes. How lucky for me," he said, taking a few small steps forward, "I was really hoping there'd be someone to question, and you're certainly my _favorite_ person to interrogate."

"Well, that's reassuring… So, maybe we'll run into each other at the The Bloody Banshee… on Friday… at six… I don't know, I mean, it's totally up-to-chance," she summarized, throwing up her arms with an exaggerated shrug and nearly smacking herself in the face with the swinging door.

"Yes, it will be quite the surprise," he replied, graciously ignoring her clumsiness.

Seth's eyes crinkled warmly at their edges as he displayed yet another dazzling smile. Somehow the dirty pavement and the fumes of gasoline and car exhaust failed to dull the moment for Lex. She soaked in the fullness of their meaningful shared look until she was practically supersaturated.

"Good night, Seth," she said softly, her eyes still intent on his.

"Good night, Lex. Sweet dreams," he replied finally, withdrawing his wand from his left pocket, and disappearing with a single, explosive _POP_.

Surely, this was the Apparation spell that she'd seen mention of in some of the Flourish & Fontaine books. It was rather impressive to witness in-person. Disappearing and instantly reappearing in whatever location they pleased, it was like wizards' bodies came with built-in Star Trek transporters…

As for Seth's very-recent demonstration, she couldn't fathom how such a blatant public display of magic could go unnoticed amid a city street rife with security cameras.

However, as she peered up and down 13th street, she was quite surprised to find that the security cameras that usually surveilled her street were missing. In fact, even their black dome covers had been removed. Of this she was certain, for she always felt rather self-conscious as she entered the building, passed under one of the ominous domes, and subsequently saw herself from several unflattering angles on the guard's TV. Weariness finally won out over curiosity, however, and Lex plodded inside and past the security guard's desk, staring curiously at the blank screen and the snoring guard all the way to the elevator.

While she waited for her lift, she was rather pleased to discover that her body was still wrapped in Seth's warm cloak. Tender warmth spread throughout her chest as she hugged the loose folds of his large cloak to her bosom. Her apartment's apparent security downgrades certainly didn't inspire confidence, but she somehow felt much safer knowing that a capable wizard was with her, at least in spirit. As soon as she'd thrown off her shoes and slid into the cool sheets of her bed, all of her worries faded into a deep, blissful sleep.

Once more, Lex dreamed of a living room interrogation, although this time she and Seth were quite pleasantly one-on-one… After the exhausting question-and-answer session, her dream shifted and they were waltzing across an endless, peaceful sea. When a muffled yet insistent ring reverberated through the dark-blue water, the familiar disruption sent hundreds of small ripples quivering over the otherwise-calm surface.

 _Ring Ring Ring_

The continuous ringing was rather unsettling, and soon waves sloshed about the ocean, swallowing Seth within its turbulent spray. The waves grew taller and taller until finally a massive, towering wave raised up, came crashing down upon Lex's head, and knocked her -

Awake at last, Lex groaned as she read 4:13AM displayed clearly on her much-too-bright smartphone screen. Without even bothering to unplug the phone from its charger, she dragged the screeching device to her ear, and grunted mostly-intelligible words from the comfort of her pillow.

"Hello?" she muttered gruffly.

"Rise and shine, Lex. It's Freddy Aeon." said an unnaturally chipper voice.

"Freddy, what the - it's four in the friggin' morning," she moaned, still clinging hopefully to her soft pillow's promise of sleep.

Freddy was unmoved.

He denied her request for a recess of 'five more minutes,' and snapped back, before promptly ending the call, "We don't have time for this, Lex. Get over to the airfield _now_ \- we've got work to do."


	7. Of Elves & Edicts

_+- Author's Foreword -+_

 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS: gore, language, implied torture_**

 _So here is where I give excuses for why this is a late update, like my current health and some surgeries blah blah blah_

 _Anywho, this is my shortest chapter yet (yay?), but I have "introduced" a lot of important characters and plot-points._ _Last chapter revolved around magic, and this one kind of revolves around the science. It's dark, yes, but don't worry - more light and magic are just around the corner!_

 _Speaking of brightening days... Thank you so much for your continued support! Your reviews and commentary really keep me going._

* * *

 **Seven ~ _Of Elves & Edicts_**

* * *

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the humid summer air, the sheer force of its blast rattling the Hunt Club Green™ window shutters at 4065 Pompey Hollow Road. Muffled shrieks and screeches followed in intermittent symphony with shattering porcelain and glass. Father had always joked that fine china and glassware made for very expensive musical instruments, but then again… Mother had never been an inexpensive woman.

"Tiskey has brought your favorite, Master Gideon," announced Tiskey the house-elf with her usual shrill enthusiasm, "- Pumpkin Pasties!"

Tiskey's perky ears wiggled beside her lamp-like, yellow-green eyes as she bent gracefully into a low bow and presented Giddy with a shining silver platter full of freshly-baked pies. Gideon's father imported the Pumpkin Pasties directly from Europe, and they were normally a special treat reserved for special occasions or for especially bad bouts of his mother's temper. Apparently, Gideon needed culinary consolation whenever Mother misbehaved.

"Mother is throwing a tantrum again," Giddy stated plainly as he eagerly swiped a Pumpkin Pasty off of the outheld plate and stuffed it into his mouth.

Then, returning to his game, he hummed contentedly as the flaky pie crust melted on his tongue and its warm pumpkin filling slid satisfactorily down his throat. When his first pie was all gone, he slowly licked the crumbs off of his fingers, before absently sucking on his injured left thumb.

"And how did this foolish gnome displease Tiskey's master?" sneered Tiskey, her voice dripping with disapproval for the magical creature currently lying at Giddy's feet.

Giddy hunched over the motionless garden gnome and poked it with a sharp steak knife that he'd stolen from the kitchen. Pink-and-red gelatinous goo oozed from the gnome's potato-shaped head.

"This one disobeyed," said Giddy, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "He dug a gnome-hole outside of the flower beds. And then, he didn't even leave me an offering! And then - and then, he _bit_ me!"

Mother was always too weary to maintain the estate's lavish grounds, so Giddy was often left to his own devices when playing outside. Mother said that digging in the dirt was filthy muggles' work, and, thus, pulling weeds or de-gnoming or otherwise engaging in yard work had swiftly become her most favored form of punishment for Gideon.

However, the yard's gnome infestation had just as swiftly become Gideon's most favored form of play. A proper de-gnoming consisted of the magical gardener taking hold of gibbering gnomes, swinging them in circles until dizzy, and then flinging them over the fence. Generally, the disoriented creatures would have a great deal of difficulty finding their way back to the garden, and, thus, the garden was saved from their burrowing.

Of course, while evicting the small creatures and hurling them into exile held distinctive appeal for Giddy, he soon seized upon an even more satisfying way to manage the creatures. Rather than expel _all_ of the potential subjects from his kingdom, the gnomes were given an opportunity to curry his favor. As long as they left small offerings, donations of food or little treasures they'd found buried beneath the earth, he'd grant them the privilege of living in his garden. Small tokens of tribute kept them in his good graces, while more impressive tributes from the rare industrious gnome would earn said gnome's family a more desirable flower bed in the garden plots.

Conversely, if a gnome ever displeased Giddy, he'd "exile" them forever by cutting them open and burying them in the garden. Not only did it ensure that the other gnomes continued following his simple rules, but it also allowed him to play an entirely different sort of game.

"Does Master Gideon require a bandage for his boo-boo?" crooned Tiskey as she dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a moist handkerchief.

"No!" Giddy shouted as he grabbed another Pumpkin Pasty, stuffed it into his mouth, and poked the gnome cadaver one last time, before ordering between loud, smacking chews, "Go bury this one by the tree, Tiskey - I'm going inside to play legos."

* * *

"I don't like it," muttered Freddy, with a firm shake of his head, "We can't pin the success of this entire operation on _your_ ability to keep this man in the dark or to otherwise sway him from the demands of his career. Sure, it will be useful to get some insider information on Auror operations, but the risks of espionage are a two-way street!"

The rubber soles of Lex's shoes squeaked in cadence with the whirring tires of Freddy's new, automated wheelchair as she followed him down a long, narrow corridor in the underground sublevels of his fancy fortress. The industrial cement walls were interrupted every few feet by an ominous, high-security door with a different large number spray-painted across its face. Other than the dull glow of various biometric scanners, the only guiding light provided to this dark hallway came from a series of fluorescent light strips lining the floor's edges and encircling each wide door.

"I understand that, Freddy…" she sighed in exasperation, her voice echoing strangely against the towering cement walls, "Up until now my involvement with this Auror was unavoidable. And now, what I'm saying is that it's going to look even _more_ suspicious if I turn around and snub him entirely."

"Yes, because no woman has _ever_ passed on a second date," Freddy said dryly as he paused in front of door number 7, slapped his hand against a glowing panel, and then inclined his face towards a blinking light.

A series of tumblers audibly clicked into place, before the thick metal door finally slid open to reveal a spacious, brightly-lit room. Although the warehouse-sized room was nearly as spartan as the hallway, it bustled with activity. Some of Freddy's carefully-vetted employees were busy assembling some very-expensive-looking machinery in one corner, while others carted desks, shelving, and other furniture about the vast, rectangular floor. Despite having already run a gauntlet of security features just to enter or exit the room, the employees were under constant, vigilant surveillance. Watchful, stone-faced security personnel patrolled the perimeter and monitored the proceedings from several strategically-staggered locations.

"Ugh! It's not that simple!" scoffed Lex, who was currently far too indignant to admire any of the room's state-of-the-art machinery or its state-of-the-art entourage.

Freddy raised one thin eyebrow high above his unimpressed gaze. He exuded an unmistakable aura of confidence that Lex knew she sorely lacked. Yes, with a tinge of jealousy, she noted that Freddy was clearly in his element here, here in this world of power and "success" that she had never managed to court properly.

"Look, this guy has been pestering me since the moment I first laid eyes on him! Now our relationship has finally reached a point where it is more even-keeled, and he might finally take it easy..." said Lex half-heartedly as she tried futilely to imagine Seth Roman ever taking it easy, "This doesn't have to be hard, Freddy - I keep him pacified with a few dates every once and awhile, get us some information, and then use that information to handle any questionable business."

Anxiety had left her stomach twisted into knots, and her guilt-ridden nerves seemed to dance around the unfortunate organ, as if it were a fleshy bonfire. How had she managed to get herself reprimanded on her own operation and before so much as a chair was assembled, nonetheless? Ugh, she was already an impostor in the magical world, and now she found herself an impostor in her own…

"Lex, your social naivete is hardly inspiring my confidence in our success," sighed Freddy as he wheeled out of the way of two workers pushing an industrial-size crate through the currently-open door number 7.

Lex dodged one of the crate's sharp corners as the two men carefully flipped the crate over and attempted to turn it out of the narrow hallway. Then, she and Freddy quickly maneuvered themselves into an empty patch of flooring in the center of the room.

"Alright, let's table this discussion for later," Freddy stated decisively, employing his signature commanding tone that brooked no further arguments, "I've taken the liberty of contacting your employer -"

"Whoa - what?" sputtered Lex, as she snapped her gaze back from a wall of computers being erected across the room.

Freddy's stoic expression didn't budge in the slightest as he rested his elbows against the armrests of his wheelchair and steepled his hands elegantly beneath his chin. Suddenly, his plush leather wheelchair wasn't evidence of a mobility impediment but rather confirmation of his immovable authority. It was as if he'd simply decided to take his executive desk with him from the office that morning, so that anyone he spoke with for the rest of the day would feel like they were awkwardly standing across a desk from him in the middle of a performance evaluation.

"I'm sure you expected I'd attempt a background check," he continued mercilessly, "Well, I did. It was relatively easy to pull your prints on the plane."

Lex blinked slowly, while processing this newest information. She didn't have anything to hide, but she didn't really have much to show for herself either. So, he'd seen her background profile… No wonder he was treating her like an unwanted guest.

Finally, she discontinued her blank stare, summoned as much fine motor control as she could muster, and said nervously, "Wow. Yeah, I suppose I should've seen that one coming…. Find anything interesting?"

"No, not at all," he deadpanned, "But, as far as anyone's concerned there will have been some… _complications_ following your accident, and you won't be returning to work."

Lex's blank stare immediately returned. This time, however, she didn't blink at all, and her eyes only grew wider and wider as understanding finally dawned.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, now -" she shouted, shaking her head in disbelief, all thoughts of propriety and self-control forgotten, "you can't just quit _my_ job!"

This was rapidly turning into one of the worst "performance evaluations" she'd ever had…

Freddy flashed her a look of pure venom as he retorted, "Actually, I just did. And, it won't stop there."

Now, when it came to socializing Lex had been "out of the game," shall we say, for quite some time, but she was still _fairly_ certain that it was entirely improper for your business partner to take such liberties in meddling in your affairs. Sure, she didn't quite have the resume for this position, but she still deserved some consultation - this entire operation didn't even exist until she herself set it in motion!

"What the hell are you talking about now, Freddy?" she demanded irritably, throwing her arms into the air and then crossing them protectively over her chest.

Freddy's stoic facade faltered once more as he broke into a fit of cruel laughter. Lex was also fairly certain that it was entirely improper for your business partner to take such _pleasure_ in meddling in your affairs.

"Lex, look around!" He exclaimed, gesturing wildly at their surroundings, "Do you think this all comes cheap? Did you think I'd just write you a check, and then there'd be no consequences?"

A particularly stiff security guard walked past Freddy's wheelchair, and Lex was painfully reminded of her current audience. She winced reflexively - why did he have to do this in public?

"Let me spell this out for you - this is your _job_ now," said Freddy, emphasizing and over-enunciating each word as if he were speaking to a kindergartner, "I am not paying you to go on date-nights or frolic through joke shops. The equipment that you see here is top-of-the-line, and these people are top-of-the-line, first-class professionals. I realize that you don't have much experience with such things, but I'm not asking anything of you that hasn't already been asked several times over of them."

Lex pursed her lips. Whether she did so to fight back tears or to avoid slinging back angry curses she couldn't be certain. However, a cool clarity soon settled overtop her emotional turmoil, and she allowed her more logical side to reign in control.

"And, what are you asking exactly?" she asked solemnly, her voice devoid of emotion.

His gaze fluttered inquisitively over Lex's suddenly-changed expression, but he answered without hesitation, "Your identity. We have a unique window of opportunity here, thanks to your accident -"

"Wait -" she ordered, holding up one hand, and Freddy actually listened for once as she asked furiously, "are you saying you want to scrub my _entire_ identity?"

Lex had basically been living like a hermit for years, avoiding all of the meaningless activities that she used to think mattered. As long as she kept her bills paid there was little to no risk of someone growing interested in her identity. However, if Freddy was still concerned, he must really want to "scrub," or delete, her online presence and whatever embarrassing residual traces of her former life were left.

"No, Lex. No scrubs," Freddy replied, furrowing his eyebrows over his pair of glinting black eyes, "I want to kill off Alexandra Austin."

 _Whoa! Hold up! Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?_ Lex thought in confusion, _Did he really just confess to plans for my murder… or is 'kill off' some new clandestine phrase? I literally just escaped certain death, and I don't see how me being dead would help the… oh! Oh no, no, no._

"Kill… No," she muttered as the gravity of his words seemingly hurled her heart down towards the floor, "No. There has to be -"

"Lex, I have committed a substantial amount of resources to this endeavor, and you sure-as-hell are going to live up to your end of the bargain!" Freddy shouted, two forks of raised blue veins bulging from the temples on either side of his forehead.

"Freddy, I understand that, but you're asking me to lie in the worst way to everyone I've ever cared about. My family… my friends… they'll think I'm dead. Do you know what that could do to them? I mean, this isn't just about me -"

"No, Lex. No, it's not. This is about _me_. This is about _you_ ," he said, stabbing his index finger at her chest, "This is about all the people you'll soon be working with, and this is about all the people that will benefit from this tech."

His reaction came as a sickening confirmation of her latent fear - yes, Freddy actually wanted her to "play dead." They would cut all of her no-maj ties by simply making it look as if that hit-and-run Ferrari had succeeded in its murderous rampage. If anyone came looking for Alexandra Austin, they'd find a literal _dead_ end, which was probably a wise security practice for many off-the-grid operations, but she had already concocted a wildly conflicting cover-story for a certain magical…

"And what about Seth Roman?" she scoffed, finally voicing her concerns, "Don't you think it'll look a _bit_ odd for me to suddenly pick up and move halfway across the country when I supposedly just died of ' _complications_.'"

Security procedures were not her strong suit, and proposals like this one were precisely why she had chosen Freddy - she needed someone meticulous, thorough, and experienced in the art of subterfuge to help keep her memories securely in her head and away from MACUSA. However, she was rapidly beginning to suspect that Freddy wasn't quite as "in his element" as he appeared.

Freddy pinched the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index finger, sighing forcefully.

"You're right," he muttered slowly, anger visibly building with each new word, "You're right! Under normal circumstances, I'd say I was confident we could tie up that particular loose end. However, once again, you've managed to royally _screw_ us before we've even begun!"

A menacing scowl affixed to his face, he glared at Lex through slitted eyes, before punching a few buttons on his armrest and gliding dramatically towards the door. She rolled her eyes and huffed loudly, but soon followed him to the neck of the room.

"Under the circumstances, I think we will scrub your identity of all but the essentials. You can retain enough presence to keep your apartment and keep up appearances. However, you'll need to dispose of any financial holdings under the name of Alexandra Austin."

"Financial holdings?" she laughed.

 _Hmm… let me call my broker… Oh no, whatever shall I do without my stock portfolio?_ she thought sarcastically.

He smiled weakly as he no doubt reminded himself that he was speaking to a nearly irrelevant pauper.

"Close your bank accounts Lex" he explained calmly and slowly, thick condescension coating each word, "From now on, Alexandra Austin leaves no credit trail. All your funding goes through a new alias."

"Okay, okay," she growled, tired of being chastised for not knowing all the ins-and-outs of an industry built on secrets, "I understand that we need to take security precautions. But… How do I know you won't just screw me over? I mean, with Alexandra Austin mostly-dead and withdrawn from the world, you'll be my only source of income, the only no-maj who even really _knows_ I still exist…"

Freddy eyed a nearby security guard, who stood stiffly at attention, before replying, "Like I said, Lex, I'm not asking anything of you that hasn't already been asked of them."

* * *

Adam Andersen couldn't believe his illustrious, heavily-redacted career had culminated in _this_. He'd survived his deadbeat drunk of a dad and the harsh realities of inner-city Chicago. He'd survived his stint with the French Foreign Legion, once fighting through over 30 square miles of harsh jungle terrain to reach an extraction zone. He'd even survived the cruel politics of Black Ops, after relinquishing his identity and personal life - though there wasn't much to relinquish to be honest. And now he was here… babysitting.

It had all started when his contact on the Dark Web brought him news of this contract that was just "too good to pass up." Sure, the vague job description made it sound like he was rejoining the Chair Force, but when your silence was bought with payouts _that_ large you were almost always guaranteed to see some action. However, thus far, the full range of his duties seemed to include getting chewed out by a fancy-pants cripple, staring at a bunch of awkward scientists all day, and now watching workplace drama unfold around a particularly spastic consultant.

"So, uh, I don't know how much you've been told…" she started hesitantly, an apologetic grin plastered across her face.

Alexandra Austin - young and brainy with little or nothing to show for it. Strong technical background. Well-educated. Humanitarian-focused. Likely to be emotionally unstable… Yes, he remembered her thin folder quite well.

Whenever Adam took on a new assignment he made a point of memorizing the personnel files of all the key players. It had served him well, while navigating the treacherous waters of these type of "off-the-book" assignments. Thus, as he stood at stiff attention, eyes wandering over each employee in turn, he dutifully riffed through the various facts he'd gathered from their ongoing background checks.

Adam's initial assessment had deemed Alexandra Austin to be a low security risk due to her laughably-hollow social life. However, her sparse email accounts, bare Facebook page, and nearly-empty phone records had failed to clue him into just how ridiculously odd this woman truly was. His team clearly needed to reevaluate the current threat level to the operation - a forward operative this bizarre was _definitely_ a wild card.

"I can't believe _you're_ in charge of this team! Is your name even _on_ a paper?! I've been published in Nature _twice_. Tell me, what the hell did we do to deserve this assignment, huh?" ranted a bony, dark-skinned Indian woman.

The woman's nostrils flared as she jerked her head this way and that, her face beseeching the room, as if any minute the explanation for her current plight might pop out of some obscure corner.

Tanvi Acharya. Brilliant molecular-bio-what's-it. Graduated high school at 16. Holds two PhD's. Impressive career with some pharmaceutical giants. Formerly involved in a not-so-impressive corporate espionage scandal that went horribly south…

Behind Tanvi, a heavy-set, round-faced, Asian woman snickered appreciatively. Sun Yanmei. Chinese biochemist. Defected to the United States, but moved to the private sector after some "disagreement" over questionable laboratory practices.

Yes, if Adam didn't consider himself to be a disciplined professional, he would've laughed aloud. Poor Alexandra Austin was going to get eaten alive…

"I don't give a fuck about _Nature_!" roared Alexandra suddenly, to which Adam quirked an eyebrow and the scientific group fell silent at her unexpected show of rage, "We're not here to compare degrees! We're not here to beg for scraps of grant money or some piddly papers! You want to know who I am, do you?"

Adam found himself fascinated by this unexpected flicker of something _more_ , something vicious burning beneath Alexandra's casual, awkward demeanor. It was like someone had poked a sleeping cobra with a stick, and now he watched, entranced, as the desperate animal sprung to life, spitting its venom. For a brief moment, Alexandra appeared surprised as she scanned the faces of her captive audience, but her expression was rapidly consumed once more by whatever powerful purpose it was that currently seemed to radiate from her very bones.

"I am the person that's going to lead this team into a new world," she hissed, without a hint of sarcasm or boastfulness hidden behind her steely gaze, "We are going to go _past_ the impossible - past chemistry, past physics, past _logic._ I am the person that discovered this world, and, believe me, there _is_ no degree for something like this - at least not one that anyone in this room could ever hope to earn."

Even the hot-headed Tanvi and the skeptical Sun Yanmei had replaced their scowls with expressions of open wonder. Apparently their briefings had been about as vague as Adam's was. He knew that Alexandra had laid eyes on this advanced, secret society they were investigating, but as he watched her swell with this… fervor he could only imagine what spectacles she'd witnessed.

The air in the cramped room had suddenly grown heavy and thick, like the calm before a storm. Eager anticipation sparked and crackled amidst the tension as each set of ears in the room strained to capture their only hope of relief - the impending explanation for Alexandra's thunderous claims. Nearly bursting with enthusiasm, Alexandra surveyed her enraptured audience once more, before she continued, emboldened.

"Yeah, we've been relegated to this compound's equivalent of a supply closet - so what? Do you really expect a businessman like Freddy to see past whatever immediately lines his own pockets? Other teams will spend _months_ laboring over minute advancements that he can then package and sell without suspicion. And, heck - the 'flagship' team's sole purpose is to act as his personal medical staff! They'll all be under constant scrutiny, complete with deadlines and profit reports, but _this_ team has been granted near-complete autonomy. So, ask yourselves, when are you _ever_ going to get a chance like this again? A chance to study a new world - new species, new technology, new principles - and all without some corporate goons breathing down your neck, directing _your_ work towards _their_ payday!"

All around the small, stuffy room, the scientists had begun to nod their heads earnestly. A baby-faced Asian man was even clutching his hands to his chest, looking to be on the verge of tears.

Adam decided he was currently much too interested by this gathering's proceedings to attempt to recall the contents of this man's file or anyone else's for that matter.

"Now, I know you've probably been offered opportunities to bend the rules before - perhaps even to work outside the law," she added nonchalantly as Sun Yanmei shared a few shifty glances with an unidentified employee and Alexandra began to pace like one of Adam's former drill instructors, "But, this is science on a whole new scale - this is science as warfare. Everyone on this team is a now a _warrior_. Our opponents are people so powerful they call themselves witches and wizards, and they wield technology so advanced it's called magic. Make no mistake - these magicals don't want us in their world. And, they don't want to share their technology, even though it costs them _nothing_. The only reason we're all able to stand here, discussing this with our memories intact -"

Sun perked up, Tanvi released a shrill chirp, and the rest of the startled scientists blinked at each other with wides eyes. Adam still remembered his initial shock upon learning about magical memory manipulation and all the other ungodly capabilities that these "magicals" possessed. He set his mouth into a grim line, eyes narrowing as he recalled the extensive list of threats these "magical" people presented.

"Yes, that's right - not only can they engage in mind control and memory wipes, but their government actively works against people like us," Alexandra stated gravely, pausing for a moment to allow the crowd's whispers to die down, before continuing loudly over the noise, "THIS is why the first mandate of our team and every team here will always be to procure technologies and develop procedures to help us avoid detection and protect ourselves against these threats. Freddy has already agreed to share his Augmented Reality prototype with us towards that end, but more about that later… Our second priority, this team's mandate, is to maintain access to magic by recreating magic from its source."

Greeted by blank stares and confused expressions, Alexandra evidently decided to explain her edict more clearly, "Access to the magical world requires biological authorization - it's in their blood. At least part of it is… We're racing against time right now. My body has been transfused with borrowed blood, but I estimate we only have three weeks left to find a more permanent solution. Approaching one of them is obviously dangerous, but if we can identify exactly what distinguishes them from us, then, perhaps, we can bridge the gap."

Alexandra thumbed through a stack of folders she'd set aside on the room's wrap-around counter. Finally, she found what she was looking for and glanced thoughtfully between the open folder and the now-pacified Tanvi.

"Tanvi Acharya, is it?" she asked innocently, though a few of the scientists snickered as they no doubt caught the irony of the question following Tanvi's self-aggrandizing rant.

After Tanvi confirmed her name with a stiff nod, Alexandra continued seriously, seemingly oblivious to the audience's soft chuckles, "Tanvi, would you be comfortable running an Immunoassay and a Western Blot test?"

With that, the room's tension finally broke as Tanvi's former compatriots were struck by fits of laughter. Adam had no idea what these nerds were on about, but he gathered that Alexandra was asking her to do something embarrassingly basic.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Tanvi demanded in outrage, her usually-light accent exaggerated by anger and her rich complexion exaggerated by a rapidly-spreading blush, "I hold two PhD's! I could run a full blood panel in my _sleep_. Listen, bhenchod, I was part-timing as a phlebotomist, before you'd even learned the word -"

"Perfect," Alexandra interrupted calmly, though Adam detected a small smirk tugging at one corner of her lips, "I already have my suspicions, but I want you to search for anything and everything out-of-the-ordinary. I guarantee this will be the most interesting blood panel you've ever run - you'll be running my blood."

"Perfect," Tanvi snapped immediately, imitating Alexandra's previous interruption with a coy smile, before adding darkly, "Just let me grab my needle."

Flicking shut the manila folder she'd been fondling, Alexandra turned back to face the entire group. A wide grin spreading across her face, her expression brightening into something simultaneously radiant and hungry.

"Alright, team, if there are no further objections…" she began, smiling broadly at the small sea of resolute faces, before continuing, "Let's get started."

After observing the wicked smile she wore as she revealed the rest of her plan, Adam again resolved to reevaluate Alexandra Austin's threat status. Although, this time, it would be for an entirely different reason.

* * *

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the chilly autumn air and was closely followed by a string of muffled cries and shrieks. A short moment later, 4065 Pompey Hollow Road fell into total silence, save for the occasional low moan.

Tiskey primly stuffed one end of her white, silky napkin into the neck of the limp lampshade she wore as a dress. Delicately cutting her steak into elf-sized bites, she tutted to herself while eyeing the untouched meal that lay at the opposite end of the mansion's long dining room table. Master Gideon was much too busy satisfying his other appetites to engage in such a mundane pastime as eating.

Indeed, Master's hunger for greatness had certainly matured over the years, and Tiskey's small chest swelled with pride every time she considered her master's brilliance. She couldn't help but feel a small degree of ownership in his success. After all, if she _hadn't_ been such an excellent servant, Master Gideon would never have thought to allow her special privileges, such as eating at the wizard's table. Most house elves' dinners consisted of hastily-nibbled lettuce in between chores, but Master Gideon had done away with all of _that_ as soon as he'd become master of the house.

"Tiskey, dear!" boomed her master's voice as he called from the bottom of the basement stairs.

After settling her utensils onto her plate, Tiskey popped down to the dark, musty basement with one swift snap of her fingers and was immediately engulfed in the rotten stench of death and decay. A thick, cloying smell left a metallic taste in her mouth, while harsh chemical odors tickled the inside of her nose. She would never understand her master's fascination with muggles…

She quickly clamped her long nose between her fingers, before the sickly aroma could force a regurgitation of her steak.

"Ah, Tiskey! I have done it again, my dear," Master boasted as he flung his arms dramatically into the air and posed majestically beneath the bright, white lights of multiple hanging lamps, "She walks and breathes, just as she thinks and loves - I can give life! Life for the hopeless masses!"

"... And, of course, I give myself some fame and fortune too," he added in a low voice, leaning further into the spotlight and fixing Tiskey with a meaningful gaze.

Tiskey would have sighed in satisfaction were she not currently warding off the room's pungent smell. Instead, she peered upwards in awe and met his gaze with her wide, watery, bulging eyes as he towered over her like a luminescent god.

Master Gideon gazed dreamily at a sharp instrument in his hand, before tossing it nonchalantly over his shoulder. A soft groan issued from a metal operating table behind him as the instrument's sharp point dug into a lumpy, soiled, white sheet. One end of the sheet rose and fell slowly as the muggle beneath heaved out a couple of ragged breaths.

"The no-maj love me - they _love_ me, Tiskey! My prestige continues to grow," he sang happily, before proceeding to fill her in on the details of his latest string of muggle awards.

Tiskey stood transfixed by the smooth melody of his voice as he regaled her with tales of his latest triumphs. She wasn't surprised in the slightest that the muggles loved her master - he was magnificent! The muggles must have been eternally humbled by the privilege of taking in his presence, for she herself loved to listen to him for hours and hours. However, the conversation quickly turned sour when he returned to the subject of that ridiculous muggle woman…

"Oh, how I'd love to get my hands on her, Tiskey," he hummed as he plopped a bloody liver into a jar and sealed lumps of skin and hair into their respective bags, "But, alas, she must wait a bit longer for sweet deliverance! The Aurors are too keen on my noble efforts, and I cannot risk the discovery of my greatest creation."

Master Gideon pushed several sealed sacks across the floor, and Tiskey grumbled to herself as she snatched up each sack and disappeared with a _Pop_. It wasn't that she minded the deliveries - she simply couldn't _stand_ the affectionate manner with which her master spoke of his latest rescue. Master Gideon was entitled to his conquests, of course, but this woman was undeserving. After all, all she did was _die_!

Tiskey snapped her fingers and quickly delivered each sack to a seedy, worn-down warehouse, where a middleman would later retrieve the muggle blood and body parts, distribute them to various dark affiliates, and return with a handsome profit for Master Gideon. Pride bloomed in her tiny elf heart once more as she gazed upon the fruit of her master's labors. Who ever could have guessed that Master's childhood hobby would be so _lucrative_?

Finally, Tiskey returned home with a sharp snap of her fingers, and Master Gideon led her to an open storage closet along the back wall of the basement. There, a slick human skeleton lay on the floor next to a pile of grimy clothing. The tattered clothing needed to be burned, of course, but it was odd to see Master leave valuable body parts unused.

"This man suffered from a rare bone disease," he drawled as he nudged the brittle skeleton with the edge of his boot, "His bones are utterly useless in this state."

Tiskey nodded her assent and promptly removed her napkin, before daintily grasping onto a thick femur with the white cloth. She was accustomed to handling such matters for Master Gideon. This was the nature of things - the living were made dead. But, the muggle woman was another matter entirely… Now, it seemed that Master Gideon spoke only of this dead woman made living, and Tiskey was not sure how to handle _that_ at all.

"Go bury this one by the tree, Tiskey," he instructed her with a slight frown, "I'm going to check on my Alexandra."


	8. Of Stem Cells & Squibs

_+- Author's Foreword -+_

 _ **TRIGGER WARNINGS: gore, language, references to abuse**_

So... I'm back? Inspiration? Apparently bed-rest tickled my muse, because content-wise this was a beast of a chapter, and yet it was such a crazy turnaround time (2 days).

There's lots of science in this sucker, and I promise I did my very best to keep it informative but not overwhelming. I actually have a fairly-involved scientific explanation for most of this stuff, but I'm keeping to the tip of the iceberg.

 _FOR SCIENCE(!):_

 _\+ More about stem cells and ancient retroviruses [ goo. gl/1A2zbh ]  
_

* * *

Eight ~ Of Stem Cells & Squibs

* * *

"Hi. I'm Lex, and I'm a squib," she announced dutifully, her tentative voice competing with the pitter-patter of raindrops as they drummed insistently against a wall of foggy windows that just couldn't _quite_ keep out the rippling, bluish daylight.

"Hello, Lex," droned a chorus of disharmonious voices.

The droll greeting sounded as a low rumble from the right side of the group's circular formation, where an unnaturally tall man and woman perched uncomfortably on a pair of much-too-small folding chairs. Meanwhile, directly across from Lex, a shrill, yet elegant, _Hello_ issued from a pile of cushions, into which one of the short British creatures she'd seen at the bank was currently sinking. Alas, even a rather large, squash-faced cat had decided to add its grating meow to the auditory fray. It purred loudly in greeting as it slunk about Lex, weaving through her legs and the chair legs in turn, before finally returning to its grimy-looking owner.

Perhaps the only melodious voice in this choir belonged to her copper-toned neighbor on the left. There sat Jeremiah Jonkers, nodding, smiling encouragingly, and, honestly, looking much-too-chipper for his own good. Lex would've groaned in outward protest, but she supposed that they were all still waiting for her to say something…

"So, uh, I've never been to a support group before… uh, at least not in person. I mean, there's plenty online - oh, I guess I really shouldn't be talking about no-maj stuff -"

"That's perfectly fine, Lex," interrupted a calm, soothing voice, which practically oozed sugar-rush rainbows and cavity-infested puppies, "This is a safe space. We're all here for the same purpose - to vent, to discuss, and to come to terms with our place as the magic-less in a magical world."

All around the circle, the members of world's worst harmony ensemble murmured and nodded their oddly-sized heads.

"We've all hit up that no-maj interweb once or twice, am I right?" grunted the cat's gruff owner as he nodded exaggeratedly and jabbed a wagging elbow at one of his neighbors.

Lex's left eye twitched compulsively at the use of the term 'interweb,' but she quickly summoned her limited social graces and buried deep her nerdy need to correct the man. After all, she wasn't really here to gather around the campfire and sing defeatist songs… Lex was going to defy these discriminatory "terms" - not accept them.

"Yes, well, as I was saying, this is my first time here… Jeremiah kindly invited me," she explained, smiling appreciatively at the bundle of sunshine that had apparently stolen Jeremiah's body, "I've been having some trouble finding work lately. It's really getting me down… I always wanted to be a healer, but, you know, for obvious reasons that was out of the question…"

Lex cast a couple of quick glances at her target in the room. From the periphery of her vision, she watched as the gigantic woman, who'd introduced herself as Magdalena, perked up in her undersized chair. The woman's expression of pleasant surprise set Lex spiraling into a whirlwind of glee - this was working!

"I just really want to help people, you know? And, I think I have a lot to offer… a lot to contribute in that sort of… medical environment. It's just been so hard to accept that, on account of my condition, I'll probably never even be given a chance," she finished solemnly, blinking her eyes furtively and shifting her gaze towards the ground.

Lex's emotional theatrics were hardly necessary, however, as the group seemed to be swallowing her words hook, line, and sinker. The group leader with the sicky-sweet voice tilted her turban-clad head to the side, raised her eyebrows, and pursed her lips, as if to say _Oh, you poor dear_. Her long, mouse-brown hair had been artistically bundled into the cloth folds of a salmon-pink turban, and now Lex watched in humored fascination as the much-too-heavy headdress slid rebelliously from her head, tugging at the long strands of her tangled hair as it crept slowly towards the floor.

"Lex," rumbled a deep, female voice distantly in Lex's right ear, "Vhy don't you speak to me after the meeting? I think I may have the perfect opportunity for you."

Snapping her gaze to the owner of the deep voice, Lex discovered none other than Magdalena. She was leaning eagerly into the circle, balancing her massive weight on the front two legs of her undersized chair. The flimsy-looking metal legs strained beneath the pressure, and the thinly-cushioned seat was comically stuck to her enormous backside.

This response was exactly what Lex had been waiting for, but she suppressed her imminent fist-pump and feigned hopeful surprise instead. Clad in the pale-grey, two-piece robe set that was the Dreadmoor Dispensary's dull employee uniform, Magdalena was obviously a prime source of magical medical knowledge, as well as Lex's best chance at acquiring some healing magic. Yes, now that her quarry had taken the bait, Lex planned to leverage this connection to her and Freddy's benefit.

"Wonderful, wonderful," crooned their overly-enthusiastic group leader in a manner that left Lex feeling quite uncomfortably like a young child getting her belly rubbed.

 _What is with this place? Is there something in the air? The water?_ she thought furiously, while glancing down with curiosity at the ribbed, plastic cup of water that she held tightly in her hands.

The hospital room's foggy windows exposed nothing but dreary skies, tainted clouds, and chilly, pouring rain that just made you want to go home and curl up with a blanket and a good book. However, all of the participants of the Dreadmoor Dispensery's magically-challenged support group appeared to be positively beaming and bubbling with spirited cheer. For goodness sakes - even crabby, sarcastic Jeremiah Jonkers was grinning from ear to ear!

Lex knew that squibs and many unfortunate magical creatures had been outcast and systemically oppressed by magicals, but somehow the depths of this magical society's neglect had never been displayed quite so clearly… Were all squibs and magical creatures really _this_ starved for attention and companionship?

"Alright! Moving on," chirped the inexhaustible group leader as she clapped her hands together and flung her head back into an upright position.

The jerky motion sent the woman's pink turban swinging across her abused scalp, before it finally came to rest in a lopsided position on the opposite side of her bony head. The turban returned to its prior position, however, as soon as she'd prompted Jeremiah to share a few bitter tales about disrespectful wand-shop customers.

Lex listened attentively to her friend's woes, offering sympathy whenever she could. However, as soon as the smelly man with the cat began a profanity-filled rant about just how intuitive his cat, "Kneazle," truly was, Lex started tuning out all the irrelevant information. Instead, she amused herself by watching the leader-woman's pink turban flip-flop back and forth, like a timepiece marking the start and end of each new speech.

Approximately twenty minutes and four sob stories later, the meeting was finally adjourned. Lex leapt eagerly from her seat, informing Jeremiah that she intended to go speak with the giantess - or the, well, half-giantess. Indeed, to Lex's absolute astonishment, not only were giants real, but they had somehow managed to procreate with beings a mere miniature fraction of their humongous size. However, Lex did her very best not to imagine the mechanics behind _that_ particular miracle of creation as she introduced herself to one such progeny.

"Hallo, Lex," said Magdalena, each uttered word slow, deliberate, and tinged with the delightful hints of a German accent, "I am Magdalena Leicht, and I vork here at the Dispensary."

Magdalena bent over, propping her elbows against her knees as she sought eye-contact with the now vertically-challenged Lex. As Magdalena peered through a hanging curtain of neatly-cropped strawberry-blonde hair, her thin, freckled face stretched into a wide smile. Her facial features were quite plain, but her gentle, kind demeanor left her face positively glowing in a manner that Lex found stunningly beautiful.

"Ve have an opening for a nurse assistantship," she continued, "It is a part-time position and not very glamorous, I'm afraid, but you'd certainly get an opportunity to learn all the non-magical tools of the trade."

 _I'm pretty sure any hopes I had for glamor non-magically flew out the window a long time ago_ , thought Lex, trying not to dwell too much on how everything she did these days seemed to be an act of desperation.

Freddy Aeon was not the sort of person to stand idly by and wait patiently for a return on his investment. In fact, the shameless micromanager had been pressuring and berating Lex quite bluntly for the entire two days their base of operations had been active. Thus, her entire focus had now temporarily shifted to pacifying Freddy for the time being by gathering a medical "shopping list" for regrowing limbs.

A nurse assistantship sounded like a fancy, professional way of saying "resident bedpan handler," but, hey, Lex was never afraid of getting her hands a tad dirty. All she really needed was a chance to observe some healers at work and, perhaps, figure out how to get her dirty hands on some of these heavy-duty healing substances. It certainly didn't hurt that she'd gain access to all sorts of biological samples in the process…

"Ms. Leicht, you're right - that _does_ sound perfect!" gasped Lex, finally allowing all of her relief and excitement to shine through, "How might I apply? Does the Dispensary accept no-maj references?"

Magdalena chuckled softly, "Please! Call me Magdalena, Lex. You von't be needing any letters of reference - I'll be happy to vouch for you after a _brief_ interview. Ve can even do that now, if you like."

Lex smiled and nodded her consent, before glancing over at her escort, Jeremiah, who was currently involved in an avid discussion of some sort with that pink-turban leader-lady - her name was Jill, wasn't it? No, Joan? Well, whatever her name was, between turban-woman and the colorful snack table he was eyeing Jeremiah looked like he'd be otherwise occupied for quite some time. Thus, without further ado, Lex followed Magdalena out the front door and down a wide, grey hallway.

Despite the relatively-high ceilings in the hallway, the top of Magdalena's head barely missed it, the topmost hairs on her head still frizzing with static as they scraped along the painted, wooden ceiling.

 _Oh, come on!_ thought Lex, scoffing in disbelief, _How difficult would it really be for the magicals to raise the ceiling a couple of inches?_

Lex assumed this was yet another example of anti-giant propaganda at work. She'd gathered from Magdalena's support group confessions that giants were sometimes aggressive and violent, and fear of them led to giants and their offspring being largely ostracized by the magical community. In Europe they'd even driven the last of their giant population into hiding, the giants apparently taking refuge in some frigid mountains to the north.

Finally, they reached an open door at the end of the long hallway and turned into what appeared to be an employee's lounge. Magdalena sank into a slate-grey couch by the window and gestured for Lex to sit on the opposite end of the three-cushion couch. Though Magdalena was slim, her chest nearly flat, and her torso straight like a board, she still weighed enough to teeter the couch over to her side. Lex grasped onto the arm on her side of the couch and did her best to avoid sliding down its tilted length. Then, as an oblivious Magdalena commenced the interview, Lex politely ignored the way her own boot-clad toes dangled a few inches off of the floor.

"Now, firstly, I must inform you that in order to become an employee of the Dispensary you must submit to routine drug tests," said Magdalena, pausing to visually confirm that this was not an issue, before continuing, "Secondly, you will not be allowed in certain wards or allowed to handle certain materials until you have completed the respective training for each and have been approved by one of the resident healers."

"Aren't _you_ a healer, Magdalena?" Lex blurted out, glad that she'd at least blurted it out out as politely as possible.

"No, no," laughed Magdalena, "There's far too much of my father in me, I'm afraid. I was never permitted a vand, but my father has at least gifted me vith a fair amount of magical resistance. It has made me quite valuable to the hospital administration, as I can resist the effects of certain maladies, lift heavier loads, or tend to difficult patients that others can't."

Lex noted a hint of sadness in Magdalena's eyes as Magdalena quickly glossed over how she'd been denied a wand. Lex remembered her own traumatic experience with those snooty magical sticks and flashed Magdalena what she hoped was an encouraging smile. While it was indeed upsetting that Magdalena had been denied a magical education, Lex was relieved to hear that at least some magicals could see the value in those with both uncommon struggles and uncommon merits.

"You are a sveet girl, Lex," Magdalena added quite unexpectedly, " Most people vould decline to sit vith me. Or, perhaps, ask me to stand. It can be quite uncomfortable to vork around someone as large as I, I know. Thank you for your kindness."

"Oh - oh, its not trouble, really!" sputtered Lex, a warm blush creeping onto her cheeks, "I mean, it's all relative… You're not large - I'm just really small!"

Without warning a thunderous guffaw shook the sparsely-furnished break room. Magdalena slapped her thighs as she laughed openly and sent the couch into a quivering fit. Lex's knuckles blanched white as she held on for dear life.

"That is quite good!" said Magdalena finally, with an approving nod, "That attitude shall serve you vell here, I think."

As Magdalena gradually recovered from her laughing fit, Lex gazed out the wrap-around windows, which now showed neither a hint of fog nor a solemn view of a dreary, rain-filled expanse. Instead, bushes and trees full of green, orange, and red leaves glinted in the radiant, blaring sunlight and cast colorful imprints on the heated pavement. The shimmering sky was free of all but the slightest wisps of cottony, white clouds.

Still staring out the window, Lex mused aloud, "Huh, I don't think I've ever seen the weather change this fast."

"Ah, vell, that's because it didn't," Magdalena explained cheerfully, "You'll learn all about this during training, of course, but all the decor, from the vindows to the valls, is enchanted to adjust to a desired mood. Ve try to set the ambiance to be most conducive to individual patients' recoveries, you see. Remember that visitor's badge they gave you at reception?"

Lex nodded, raising her dangling visitor's badge in one hand and flipping it back and forth in her palm. When she had first received it, the badge seemed to be an ordinary plastic badge like any other, but now that she looked more closely below the giant 'V' for visitor on its face, she could see little white clouds dancing about a pulsing sun.

"Yes, that one. The spell on it allows you a more personally-appealing environment. If you're a patient or an employee, you get a pin that does the same thing. Of course, employee pins like this one," Magdalena said, gesturing to a circular metal pin on the collar of her robe, "also declare what equipment and areas you have access to."

"Ah, that makes sense…" Lex murmured, nodding along, although she was simultaneously admiring and despairing of the extra security hoops that she'd now have to jump through, "How does it do that?"

"Vell, each time you earn another certification a new spell is added. If you're ever visiting an unauthorized area, it will turn red, burn, and screech," she answered with a nonchalant shrug, which, of course, prompted the groaning, tilting couch to answer with a shrug of its own.

Suddenly, the couch, and Lex's feet, slammed painfully to the ground as Magdalena stood abruptly, rising to what must have been _at least_ eight feet. She motioned towards the break room door, and then began lumbering down the wide, grey hallway, which for some reason now seemed much more inviting to Lex.

"You know, since ve have already begun to discuss some of your preliminary training, how vould you like to get the rest done today?" Magdalena asked pleasantly.

"That'd be amazing!" replied Lex excitedly, "You mean I got the job?"

"Of course, Lex," laughed Magdalena, "I am in charge of the nurse assistants here at the Dispensary, and I think you are a perfect candidate."

Lex simply couldn't hide her grin. This was all working out so _perfectly_. At this rate, her Colorado crew might actually be able to find a solution to her magical blood loss problem, before her time was officially up.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity, Magdalena! There's just one thing I need to do first… Jeremiah doesn't know where I am, and I should let him know I'm staying."

Magdalena shot another beaming smile at Lex, the lively glow of her face shining down from above as she said, "Of course! Be sure to tell Jeremiah I have him to thank for my newest vorker! I'll meet you in the break room in a few minutes."

As Magdalena lumbered down another hallway, Lex raced down her own familiar, warm-grey hallway towards the room where the support group had been hosted. At this speed, the hallway streaked by as a wave of rainbow colors, and Lex soon became so lost in her admiration of the spectacle that she very nearly barreled into a cloaked man as he turned out of yet another wide hallway. Swerving to avoid a messy collision she slammed into the wall across from him, before spinning around with a look of pure embarrassment etched across her face.

"So, this is how you acquire all those bruises, is it?" inquired a smooth, unmistakably-smug voice.

"Seth?!" Lex exclaimed in surprise, "What in the world are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same thing, Lex, but given what I've seen, you clearly must frequent this place a lot," he drawled as his lips spread into a signature Seth Roman smirk.

"No, actually, I _don't_ , but I will be 'frequenting' it soon… Also," she spat, before adding with a narrow-eyed scowl, "You still haven't answered my question."

Seth lowered the hood of his cloak and crossed his arms over his chest. He hung his head dramatically and sighed, before raising his face once more, just enough to meet her gaze with piercing laughing eyes.

"I'm an Auror, Lex," he replied exasperatedly, as if that alone explained everything, "I'm here on Auror business. Now, what's this about frequenting the hospital in the future?"

Lex was now unexpectedly irritable. The first wave of irritation had washed over her as soon as he commenced with his teasing remarks… Ugh, it was if nothing had changed between them at all. There he stood, just as gorgeous and unaffected and _irritating_ as ever.

"I'm going to be working here from now on," she stated proudly, with a swift jerk of her chin, before adding with a clever smirk of her own, "So then, what kind of Auror business brings you to the Dispensary? Scourers?"

Seth frowned, shaking his head and responding with a sneer, "Careful, Lex, or I'm going to have to bar you from the Bloody Banshee. You've clearly been spending too much time with Wyomi."

"Well, was she wrong?" Lex asked casually, quite pleased with her ability to put Seth on the defensive for once.

A dark expression passed over his countenance, like storm clouds blotting out the sun. Suddenly, the walls surrounding them faded from grey to black as long, dark smears appeared to drip off the walls like peeling paint. No longer so assuming, Lex rapidly decided to strike Scourers off the list of potential topics for teasing Seth.

"No, she wasn't wrong," he snarled, his gaze drifting hungrily over Lex's face, before finally resting on her lips, "- but you are."

Lex fought to suppress an involuntary shiver. Suddenly, she didn't like this dark hallway at all, and, without a second thought, she promptly yanked the illusion-inducing visitor's badge off of her neck. However, she had little opportunity to observe her true surroundings, as a raucous wail immediately filled the hospital corridors, and both the badge and lanyard burned red-hot in her hands. Just as she swatted the melting plastic away and sent the badge hurtling towards the floor, Seth swept in, scooping up the necklace and forcing it back down onto her neck.

A welcome silence settled over the now baby-blue hallway, the calm broken only by the heavy pants of an Auror and the girl he was constantly saving from herself. Ugh, Lex did her best to hide her self-disgust… as well as her newfound fascination with men's eyelashes. Indeed, at least thirty seconds had passed, and Seth Roman was still pressed up against her, arms wrapped around her neck, hazel eyes mere inches from her own. The silence in the hallway was not long for this world, however, as less-than-a-minute later a cacophony of frightened voices echoed through the halls, and Seth spoke loudly over the commotion.

"What the hell were you thinking, Lex?!" he demanded between nervous pants.

"I'm so - sorry," she stuttered anxiously, even more alarmed now than she was previously, "I was scared and the walls started dripping and I just thought if I took it off -"

"Scared? Are you scared of me, Lex?" Seth interrupted sharply, his hazel eyes filling with a ghostly pain.

"Well…" answered Lex weakly, quite taken aback by the discovery that Seth Roman was actually capable of feeling emotional pain, "You _did_ seem to be pretty angry with me."

Seth said nothing, but simply continued staring at her with that same wounded expression. Now Lex really wished those people coming down the hallway would hurry it up…

Finally, she could bear the silence no more, and inquired abruptly, "Seth, why are you still holding me?"

And just like that, the deflated Seth Roman seemed to flicker back to life.

His enticing lips melted into a boyish grin, and his eyebrows rose hesitantly, before he finally shrugged and murmured, "My hands have melded with your lanyard."

"Oh," Lex said concisely, her lips lingering in a perfect 'O' formation.

At last the hospital staff arrived and began poking, prodding, and laughing at this awkward state of affairs. When she spotted Magdalena, Lex's stomach plummeted like a heavy stone. The towering woman looked on with a worried expression, and Lex's panic rose as she considered what this mishap might mean for her nascent employment.

"Lex, please tell me this was an accident," croaked Magdalena, and her crushed spirits only deepened Lex's dread and shame.

A furious-looking wizard had superheated his wand, and a thin fiery stream extended from its tip to the plastic surrounding Seth's hands and Lex's neck. Soon, one of Seth's hands pulled free of her neck, and the angry Dispensary wizard pointed his wand at Lex's other shoulder, swishing his wand in a series of choppy movements that were somehow reminiscent of both a chisel and a blowtorch.

Her eyes were watering threateningly, and Lex couldn't bear to look at either the disappointed giantess to her left or the handsome Auror pressed up against her chest. Instead, she opened her mouth and prepared to end her short-lived medical career with one swift, surgical strike.

"It was an accident," Seth announced confidently, his voice ringing with authority as he explained smoothly, "Lex appeared to be in quite the hurry, when we bumped into each other. The badge was jostled off of her neck. I then grabbed it and attempted to put it back over her neck."

Lex's expression was as neutral as Switzerland as she carefully rotated her face back towards Seth's. Several slow, wide-eyed blinks of surprise were the full extent of her emotional display, and yet something warm and glowing, like the hot coals and embers of a fireplace, resided cozily in Seth's eyes. Lex wasn't sure why he'd covered for her, but somehow she knew he understood.

From over her left shoulder, Lex heard Magdalena release a deep sigh of relief. And just like that, Seth's left hand broke free of the melted, twisted plastic, he stepped back to a respectable distance, and all that was left of the sordid affair was a disfigured necklace and an absent feeling where his warmth had abandoned her chest.

"Oh. My. Word. Lex - what did I miss?" drawled the dry, sarcastic voice of one Jeremiah Jonkers as he stepped out into the now hot-pink hallway, his copper hair clashing horribly with the blushing walls, "I leave you for, like, fifteen minutes…"

* * *

It was 3:29AM on November 3, 2016, when Alexandra Austin finally collapsed into her comfy, made bed. The mattress groaned under her weight and the creaking box-springs seemed to chide her for her recent neglect. Halloween had passed by rather uneventfully and quite ironically this year, as she'd spent the entire night training with real witches, real wizards, a real werewolf, and some real stinky shit. Yeah, there were definitely lots of Halloween "candies" in her bedpan baskets after she went to "trick-or-treat"…

Now, Lex had, perhaps, three hours of freedom with which she planned to rest and recuperate, before she traveled from one clandestine job to another. Freddy had been pleased by the news of their project's advancement, and her team, most vocally Tanvi, had insisted she return to Colorado at once.

As much as she looked forward to whatever scientific discovery was good enough to have her recalled in such a state, Lex's exhaustion was overwhelming. She hadn't worked this hard in years, and she prayed she'd soon be sleeping more deeply than she had in years, as well. As if in answer to her prayers, the universe saw fit to lower the curtains of her eyelids and induce a comatose slumber.

Much too soon, her obnoxious phone alarm sounded, and she awoke with a groggy brain and tired, red eyes. Already, her dreams were fading from her conscious mind, and all she could remember was a distinct, warm, pleasant feeling and Seth Roman's smiling face.

Approximately three hours, one plane ride, one private shuttle, and two security checkpoints later, Lex found herself gazing bleary-eyed through a massive microscope. The room was currently devoid of light, so that the microscope could achieve the highest possible resolution. And yet, Tanvi's presence was still unmistakable, as the sharp scent of her perfume refused to give Lex's nostrils a rest.

Lex hated smells. Lex hated perfume. Lex hated practically everything but sleep.

"What am I supposed to be looking at again?" droned Lex as she watched some bright, colorful blood cells float around in their dark, faded solution.

Even the dim light of the microscope was starting to hurt her eyes, and the drifting cellular shapes blurred and bled into indistinguishable swirls. Ugh, Lex knew she was truly on her last legs when she couldn't even stay awake for _science_.

"They're not supposed to be doing that!" shrieked Tanvi, her shrill voice seemingly scraping against Lex's eardrums, "I've tried everything! I froze them, burned them, irradiated them, and splashed them with every biological sterilizing agent known to man! They refuse to die!"

In spite of the shroud of fatigue that had been dampening her every sluggish move, Lex perked up excitedly as a second wind of energy seemed to blow that heavy blanket clear of her body and, perhaps, clear of the entire room.

"What do you think this means?" Lex asked hurriedly, suddenly wishing she'd had time to grab herself a highly-caffeinated latte.

"I took the liberty of looking through your medical records," sniffed Tanvi as Lex sighed into the darkness and waved goodbye to the last of her personal privacy, "You shouldn't even be alive right now. No one could've saved your life - not even a _real_ master of Eastern medicine."

Lex scoffed, frustrated with the current pace of this conversation, "Tanvi, just get to the point! What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you were a _lost cause_ , and so they handed you over to the apparent doctor of lost causes," she snapped irritably, as if Lex's every living breath caused her deep offense, "He's supposedly an expert in all sorts of alternative, Eastern, and herbal medicine - a real green-thumb. But, his credentials don't add up, his procedure and your recovery doesn't add up, and, really - it just doesn't make any fucking sense, okay?"

Lex had been burning the candles at both ends for the past three days, and right now her short fuse was nearly spent. Tanvi's crazed rant had left the frail woman a panting mess, but Lex charged on callously anyway.

"Obviously, Tanvi! What part of 'magic' don't you understand? Sheesh! If this made any fucking sense, we'd all be wand-waving and making miraculous recoveries all the time! How about we start rethinking words like 'sense' and 'impossible,' okay?"

Fortunately, Tanvi didn't point out what Lex herself felt was a clearly-inaccurate statement. Of course not everyone would make miraculous recoveries when they finally understood magic - that'd be a luxury for the rich to make other wealthy people richer.

 _Cough cough, Freddy_ , Lex thought, her strained mind reducing her thoughts to a tirade of angry grumbling.

"Have you experienced any other strange physical recoveries since your release from the hospital? Any bizarre health changes? Anything at all?" Tanvi's shrill voice called earnestly through the darkness.

Lex summoned all available mental faculties and thought carefully. She _had_ walked right up to the site of the Scourers' ground zero almost immediately after her car crash. Her cuts from that terrible explosion didn't heal immediately - that kind Native American wizard had seen to those. However, none of the bruises she should have sustained had manifested either. Every clumsy fall and every slamming door she'd suffered should have left some sort of mark, right?

"Well… I haven't seen anything heal before my eyes or anything like that - at least not without magical potions that are _supposed_ to work that way…" she started to explain.

Tanvi rudely interrupted, greedy interest evident in her voice, "Can you get samples of these potions?"

"Yes," Lex grunted, "I've already been chatting up the guy who gave them to me. He barely knew me when he offered them the first time, and just this Monday he agreed to introduce me to that support group with minimal prodding, so I'd say my chances are fairly good… Oh! And, if that healer's shop finally opens, I can just buy some potions there - the weaker ones aren't considered 'controlled substances.'"

Tanvi hardly spared a second, before responding, "Great! As soon as I get a looksie at those, we can study the interactions with your blood and hopefully get one more random variable factored out of our list… Was that all you've noticed?"

Lex stroked the side of the fiberglass microscope slide and shook herself back and forth in her spinning chair. The jerky motions helped to keep her awake, since it appeared that even a scientific discovery of this magnitude couldn't overcome the science of sleep.

"The only other thing was the bruises… They didn't really seem to be healing all that fast after the accident, but then the potions healed them up almost immediately… And then, even though I banged myself up pretty good, no other marks or bruises showed up - it was like the potions' effects kept on working," Lex muttered, idly pressing her eye socket back onto the microscope lens.

"And that's not normal?" Tanvi inquired thoughtfully, her voice thankfully quiet for once and not grating against Lex's sleepy ears.

"I don't know, really," Lex admitted as she squinted against the microscope glass, trying miserably to get her weary eyes to focus, "I suppose the comparable topical creams I bought were supposed to take much longer to heal… Actually, now that I think of it, those were healing several orders of magnitude faster than the label's best estimates as well!"

"Interesting… perhaps your regenerative -"

"Hey, Tanvi," Lex uttered suddenly, interrupting Tanvi's likely-insightful speculation, "Are the cells supposed to be chaining like this?"

Wheels whirred against the stone floor and Tanvi bumped into Lex's chair with a sharply shouted _Out of the way!_ Though irritable, Lex complied. She did want her question answered, after all.

"Exactly how tired are you?" spat Tanvi a short moment later, "They're just floating around like before - nothing more."

 _Ugh, why can't anything ever be easy?_ Lex groaned inwardly as she scooted back along the laboratory table, groping about in the dark for the microscope arm.

"Let me check again," she sighed as her fingertips finally found purchase on the glass microscope slide.

Before she could move her hand away to avoid damaging the sample, however, Tanvi shrieked at a decibel level that should've been criminal, "Don't move! For the love of - Don't fucking move!"

Lex froze in place as Tanvi fell silent, and the only sound left in the dark room was the slow turning of the microscope's gears and levers. Somehow, Lex found the eerie silence more suffocating than either Tanvi's shrill chatter or Tanvi's toxic perfume. Lex's current sensory deprivation certainly didn't help matters, as she could feel practically every muscle and tendon in her body flex and tense as she waited in anxious anticipation.

Finally, when she could take no more, she broke the silence with an impatiently grunted _Well?_

Lex listened intently as Tanvi shifted in her chair and rolled gently away from the microscope table, before responding, "Well. It would appear that you're the catalyst… I was going to get to this, before you so _rudely_ interrupted, but I suppose it's more appropriate now anyway - I believe I was right, as usual. The molecules you're seeing are a mixture of completely alien stem cells and proteins - at least that's how I'd classify them based on their behavior. They seem to react to your specific bioelectric field. As soon as you're in close proximity, the stem cells begin chaining and producing new proteins and stem cells. I'm not sure yet what kind of biological properties would make them so indestructible, but if these cellular chains exist _in vivo_ , inside your body -"

"Yes, I know what _in vivo_ means," snapped Lex in irritation, "I studied this in college, if you recall, and I don't need a _PhD_ to know basic biology terms."

"Fine," Tanvi snapped back even more briskly, "I was only trying to help, since your _brain_ clearly isn't recovering at an accelerated rate in this agitated state of yours… Ugh! Whatever! As I was saying, if these chains extend all the way to your brain…. We might be looking at a completely new neurological structure - maybe even an additional nervous _system_."

Lex stood abruptly and flipped the room's complicated light switch. Both women winced and groaned as the bright light hit their eyes like a battering ram.

One of Lex's many random, nerdy interests was stem cells. They seemed to hold so much promise for new medical discoveries and biological feats. Stem cells were essentially biological wild-cards, nature's ace up the sleeve - a cell capable of creating any other type of cell. Well, it was usually more complicated in practice, but the vast versatility and utility of stem cells were beyond reproach.

One particular biological story had always stuck out to her, one of life's great narratives that had proved there was beauty in the greater universe, a beauty that connected everything from humans to stem cells to ancient retroviruses…

Once upon a time, there was a primate embryo unlike any other. A wily virus had invaded its infantile form. With urgency, the virus set to work replicating itself, removing piece after piece of the primate's genetic code and reprogramming it in its own image. When the virus' work was complete, the primate was born and died like any other, though it left an entirely new branch of species in its wake. As each descendant became ancestor, and each ancestor passed the virus-gifted code onto their own descendants, the mutated genes wrought untold changes on their primitive bodies. New proteins were created and gave birth to new stem cells, which in turn birthed new cells capable of entirely new feats. Several eons of evolution later, neither a human nor a great ape existed that wasn't built with the stem cells born of primate and retrovirus genes. And thus, the most intelligent species on the planet came to be, all because of an invading virus, which gave them the final, critical piece of a grander puzzle - the ability to build an improved form of stem cell.

Blinking into the overly-bright, fluorescent lights, Lex felt strangely like a newborn once more as she opened her eyes to a brave, new world. Something inside her was fundamentally different, even if it that something was only taking a temporary trip through the myriad bloody hallways of her veins.

Glancing over at Tanvi, whose face was currently scrunched up in concentration, Lex delivered flatly, "If magicals possess a new form of stem cell, we have to get a hold of it. I don't think I've got the full set - something's missing. I can access their world, but I can't shape it. It's like only half of the necessary system is present. Maybe that's all a squib really is… a magical with one mutation to many in the wrong direction."

The wrinkles plaguing Tanvi's scrunched face flattened into an expression of pleasant surprise, as if she were only now seeing Lex for the first time.

"Impressive, Lex," she uttered slowly and seriously, with an approving nod, "You figured all of that out on only three hours of sleep and a bachelor's degree."

Lex scowled, but Tanvi quickly held up a hand and continued, "I'm serious. Do you have any particular sample sites in mind?"

"Neuronal stem cells, of course. We are talking about the brain, after all -" snapped an overly-weary Lex, before she visibly deflated, gave a deep, resounding sigh, and attempted to curb her irrational irritation while Tanvi was actually being decent for once, "Sorry, I'm just tired… Yes, but, honestly, looking in the brain just makes sense. Every magic spell and ritual is essentially just an act of thought and willpower working on the physical world. Sometimes they seem to need catalysts or focusing devices or energy sources, but it always leads back to the same common denominator - thoughts and feelings. I mean, even physical movements, like speech, are produced by impulses of thought…"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," muttered Tanvi excitedly, before jumping up from her chair and laughing with a wild grin, "You were right, Lex - this is so much better than _Nature_ magazine."

* * *

Another day had come and gone, though Lex was mostly unaware. After a brief nap on the plane ride home and a longer nap in her neglected bed, Lex awoke to the setting sun and the promise of another arduous night-shift at her favorite hospital, the Dreadmoor Dispensary.

Between cleaning chores, playing waitress _and_ butler to various whiny patients, and, of course, bedpan deliveries, Lex had managed to swipe a few stool, skin, and hair samples just in case they proved useful. She'd also managed to learn more about the magical healing arts and the history of the Dispensary.

Apparently, no one knew the founder of the Dispensary's true name, only the name he'd fashioned for himself - Dr. Dreadmoor. A practicer of the darkest arts, he had fled a distant land and beguiled his way into a respectable fortune even before he'd landed on the Eastern shores of this new continent, known as America.

Over the years, it became clear to both magicals and non-magicals alike that he was a highly-skilled physician. He was lauded for his specially-brewed healing concoctions that were most potent and effective. And, in exchange for his services, he never asked for money but simply made strange request after stranger request.

The Puritans and Scourers proclaimed him to be a pious man and, thus, he never saw death on the stake. The magicals declared him a genius and a credit to his kind, even though he never shared his healing methods. Ultimately, not a single scandal touched him, and not one of the many wicked allegations or fervent condemnations that came his way was ever proven true.

However, the lack of evidence simply wasn't enough to keep chills from running up her spine or shadowy flickers from hovering at the edge of her vision everytime she was alone in a corridor or cleaning up one of the old, empty wings of the hospital. Dr. Dreadmoor's foul play may never have been proven, but there was certainly something foul haunting her now.

Perhaps it was merely her now-constant battle with sleep deprivation, but sometimes when she was swabbing a sample into a specimen vial, she swore she heard the floor creak. And, sometimes, when a patient screamed or cried or… died, she swore she heard an eerie chuckle emanating from the peeling black walls. Indeed, whenever she found herself walking the corridors alone at night, her stupid employee pin had to go and turn the walls and ceilings to the vilest pitch-black. Now, as soon as she saw the creeping limbs of pitch-black paint start to stretch up the walls and arch across the fading ceiling, she'd scurry into the nearest occupied room and invent some desperate excuse for veering off-course.

Lex had studied the brain. She knew hallucinations could play tricks on a sleep-deprived mind - especially a mind that may or may not have chains of strange, magical cells and proteins growing towards it. However, she also knew that her only hope of a reprieve was to find Freddy the information he needed, so that she could finally halt this unhealthy routine.

Her first helpful insight had come from a werewolf who'd bitten off his own leg, when locked away during a full-moon. The healers had explained that there was no hope for its regrowth, because he had sustained the injury through magical means. Thus, Lex learned that there were two types of injuries and maladies - mundane ones, like _she_ was accustomed to, and magical ones, which were the only real danger to magicals, because everything mundane could be healed.

Lex's second insight came from a witch who'd suffered a horrible misfire from her wand. Every bone from the fingers of her right hand to the tibia in her right shoulder socket had turned brittle and was crushed to dust beneath the weight of her flesh. The witch's limp, wobbly arm could still be healed, however, because magical injuries could sometimes be treated with the right kind of magic. After gulping down a few doses of a smoking, disgusting-looking potion called Skele-gro, the woman was able to regrow her arms after a few painful days and nights.

So, apparently, magic couldn't regrow magically-injured bones without a scaffold, and the werewolf was just out of luck. Either that or it was more anti-beast prejudice rearing its ugly head…. Actually, it was probably both. Lex thought both.

Her third and final insight came from a gangly teenager whose toes had broken off after a teleportation accident, which was called "splinching." Well, the teleportation wasn't exactly called "teleportation" either, but Lex was an avid Star Trek fan and it was going to take awhile for her to get used to calling teleportation "apparition," okay? Anyways, two of the pimple-faced teen's toes had been severed clean off his feet as he'd fallen against a wave-battered beach cliff. One liberated toe was recovered - and one wasn't. The recovered toe was reattached with a simple flick of a wand, but the second toe had to be regrown with a three-part regimen of Muscle-gro, Skele-gro, and an ointment known, quite predictably, as Skin-gro.

Finally, Lex had her shopping list for Freddy! But, of course, it consisted purely of controlled substances… The patented potion recipes were highly-coveted, carefully-kept secrets of the manufacturers, Rubens Winikus and Company Incorporated, and Lex was well aware that there would be serious safeguards against theft or tampering, when such a large source of income was involved. However, the potions were not only valuable but quite dangerous. Their misuse could lead to all kinds of hideous deformities and life-threatening accidents. Yes, it would unfortunately take her a long time to work her way up the Dispensary chain of command and get certified to administer such a delicate treatment…

Thus, Lex found herself free of Freddy for Friday morning and afternoon, as her main task was now basically to gather enough intelligence to plot a hospital heist. She figured it'd take a lot more than joke shop products this time, but it probably wouldn't hurt to shop around the Inside Out a bit while she waited for Seth Roman…

After replenishing her supply of Weasley's Snowstorm and Canary Cream cookies, Lex ambled about the busy square. Lurking by the only unimpeded trash can she could find, she stuffed the contents of her small shopping bag into her unremarkable leather purse, before tossing the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes bag into the bin. Even though the Inside Out's dome was swiftly spinning on its axis, an enlarged sun setting as the night eclipsed the day, the patchwork streets were still dotted with hairy heads, bright cloaks, strange hats, and handfuls of bulging bags that painted the streets in nearly every imaginable color.

Sliding past what looked to be an impromptu book-signing, Lex wandered over to the window of the Inside Out's sole healer's shop. Gaudy lavender curtains, embroidered with a lattice of chunky amethyst and topaz stones, had been drawn tightly shut across the store's front window. The same hastily-written sign was propped against the glass. Though the words were quite difficult to read, while the waning sunset was busy admiring its own reflection in the murky glass of the unlit display, Lex had already fully committed the sign's contents to memory. Alas, the healer's shop was still closed due to black market business…

Approximately four silent seconds passed, an idea finally dawning on Lex as the sun finally set.

 _Whoa, wait - black market business?_ she thought excitedly as the first vestiges of a plan flashed through her, for once, well-rested mind.

Lex felt that she had already somewhat established that her criminal capabilities were rather poor. She'd probably never master the art of thievery outside of a videogame, but that didn't mean she still couldn't make a valid contribution to the criminal trade… If there was one thing she and Freddy had, it was money, and it was time to find herself one of those top-of-the-line, first-class-professionals Freddy was always bragging about.

And, with her solemn plans to get up to no good, Lex pranced straight past Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, down the road, and into the Bloody Banshee for her scheduled date with an Auror. Yes, she was well-aware of the irony of a criminal courting a cop. And yet, dating an Auror would certainly prove to be either a very good idea or a _very_ poor one… Either way, Lex mused, she'd never been afraid of getting her hands a tad dirty.

* * *

Seth had already ordered Lex a large tankard of Pumpkin Juice when she finally arrived at The Bloody Banshee. As soon as she entered, Seth removed his black cloak from the bar stool he'd apparently been saving and moved it to the back of his stool instead.

"How am I always late?" Lex muttered to herself as she crossed the room and slid onto the open barstool.

"Well, Lex, what a surprise bumping into you here," Seth said with a smug smirk, before he leaned back in his chair and added, "Although, I suppose it's not much of a surprise that you're late… or bumping into people."

"Gee, Seth, are you this complimentary with all the ladies?" she replied sarcastically, the relief of successfully completing yet another step of her mission prompting her to unleash all of her sass, "I suppose, it's not much of a _surprise_ that you're just as charming as ever - it just wouldn't be a conversation with Seth Roman if it didn't begin with an insult or two."

Seth simply deepened his smirk and watched silently as Lex sipped on her Pumpkin Juice. Even in such a chipper mood, she couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious while her slurping lips were trapped under his intense gaze. Finally, she lowered her tankard back onto the table, and Seth revisited his old habit of interrogation.

"Are you feeling well, Lex?" he asked solemnly, a slight crease forming between his furrowing eyebrows, "They're not working you too hard at the Dispensary, I hope…"

"Well, aside from the frequent exposure to noxious fumes and fecal matter, the daily hallucinations, and the lack of sleep, I'm feeling quite well. How are you?" she responded cheerfully.

Lex laughed at her own dismal joke as she whimsically traced the rim of her tankard with the soft tip of her index finger. The stress of the week seemed to be dripping off of her strained neck and shoulders, evaporating into nothing amidst the muggy heat of the crowded pub. Seriously serious Seth was unlikely to share her dark humor, but she was currently much too relieved to resign herself to the realm of seriousness.

"Lex, I had no idea it was so bad…" he began seriously, his face the very picture of worry and concern, which, of course, guilted her with the memory of that one time he _kind of_ saved her job.

"Look, it's really not," Lex sighed, resolving to play nice for once, "I was just… messing around. I want to thank you for what you did at the Dispensary. I probably wouldn't even _have_ this job, if it wasn't for you."

Suddenly, Lex was wracked by a series of involuntary sneezes. Turning away from Seth, she hid her nose and mouth behind a napkin, subtly wiping at each orifice. Her stomach felt a bit queasy all the sudden, and her rippling, orange Pumpkin Juice didn't look quite so appealing anymore.

"Well, by the looks of it, Lex, I didn't do you any favors," Seth said with a frown, his eyes grazing first over her face, then her shoulders, and then her neck, "I hope you haven't caught something from the Dispensary. Witches and wizards aren't always the most consistent folks when it comes to immunizations…"

"Hey, the Dispensary hasn't exposed me to anything without the proper protections," she stated defensively.

"Still," Seth continued, relentless as always, "The city can't afford an outbreak right now - everyone's already on edge from the Scourer attacks."

Lex raised her eyebrows in unison, allowing her honey-brown eyes to grow comically wide and round, before asking incredulously, "Did you just mention a Scourer attack of your own free volition?"

"Well, will miracles never cease," joked Wyomi, the gaunt bartender breezing past Seth's portion of the bar counter, throwing a dirty dishrag into a bin, and winking at Lex as she did so.

And just like that, Wyomi temporarily derailed the conversation, while poured Seth and Lex a second helping of their respective drinks. As Wyomi leaned sideways over the bar counter, she poked the knobbly elbow of her putting arm into his face. Seth promptly rolled his eyes into a piercing glare.

Quite predictably, Seth seemed less-than-pleased to have Wyomi eavesdropping on his private conversation. Of course, he was also, most likely, less-than-pleased to have the emotional woman anywhere within his immediate vicinity. However, he stayed mercifully silent as she poured him a second Butterbeer, removed her elbow from in front of his face, and finally sidled over to Lex's piece of the counter. After swapping pitchers, Wyomi leaned over the counter to next refill Lex's Pumpkin Juice.

"Oh, sweetie, you haven't even finished your first glass…" Wyomi gasped, stating the obvious, as if an unemptied glass was an obvious omen of bad things to come, "Are you feeling alright, Lex? You seem a tad pale..."

"Yes!" whined Lex, just as she was overwhelmed by another sudden fit of sneezes, "Why does everyone keep asking me that? I just haven't been getting enough sleep - it's no big deal!"

Seth and Wyomi glanced at each other, exchanging a shared look of concern, before the traitors regrouped and attacked her as a united front. Both of their faces wielded the same cool expression of disbelief. In fact, their skeptical glares mirrored one another's so perfectly that Lex was beginning to wonder if she truly _was_ sick and seeing double… Of course, as humorous as it was to see the two of them agree on _anything_ , Lex did not like this dynamic shift of power one bit.

"She's been working late nights at the Dispensary," Seth muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his stiff lips straining into a thin, pursed line.

"Oh, is that so?" replied Wyomi, completely unnecessarily, as she cocked an eyebrow and looked ready to give Lex a stern scolding.

"Yes, that is so!" Lex groaned in exasperation, "Both of you need to chill _out_! I was perfectly fine before I came in here - there's probably just some scent, like a cleaning product or something, that's tickling the inside of my nose. Sheesh!"

Wyomi simply pursed her lips once more, and began humming to herself as she walked away to wait on another one of the bar's weekend patrons.

"You really are looking a bit pale -" Seth started.

"Okay, can we just talk about something else?" Lex snapped, her head already aching and throbbing from the aggravated pulse, which was presently pounding against the temples of her forehead.

"Fine," Seth sighed, casting one last glance at the crumpled up napkin Lex had been sneezing into, "What do want to talk about?"

"Well…" she said slowly as she thought it over and ultimately decided to push her luck, "You never _did_ explain what Auror business brought you to the Dispensary. Although, I suppose there are plenty of reasons criminals might end up at a hospital..."

"There are also plenty of reasons for victims and Aurors to wind up in the hospital too," he corrected with a grin, "I was checking on the hospital's current security features… But, primarily, I was there to deliver the Superintendent some notices on the situation with the black market."

"The black market?" Lex asked, perhaps too perkily, "You mean someone's been stealing potions?"

"Ha! Someone's been doing far worse than stealing potions…" Seth laughed darkly, taking a long swig of his Butterbeer, before continuing with an angry scowl, "We've been receiving reports of dark rituals within the city limits. Like most cities, this city has been declared a strictly dark-arts-free zone. But, as if these heinous acts weren't enough, several cases of illegal trafficking have been cropping up. And, as always, it's the vulnerable innocents who suffer."

"What… do you mean?" asked Lex hesitantly, remembering suddenly the elusive Dr. Dreadmoor and shivering as a feverish chill ran up her chest and spine, "What sort of things are they trafficking exactly?"

Seth fixed her with a grim stare that spoke volumes - each book volume a thick tome filled with repeats of the phrase _You don't want to know_. However, Lex had already been over this with that pretentious Professor Egg - yes, she was a "muggle," and, yes, she very much preferred to know. Thus, Lex simply tapped her fingernail against the side of her metal tankard and waited patiently for Seth to explain.

"You really don't want to get involved in this, Lex," Seth sighed, cradling his forehead against his palm in a rare show of fatigue, "I consider you to be one of those innocents, Lex. You can't defend yourself, and that makes you the perfect target… But, fine. If you must know, there's been illegal trafficking of human body parts, no-maj slaves, and, yes, stolen potions and equipment."

Somehow the cool delivery of such awful truths made them seem all the more severe. As Seth raised his head and ran his liberated hand through his short, black hair, Lex mulled over the dark reality, which was surely hidden behind the showy drapes of these thin, superficial words. Like a general mustering her troops, she'd given a speech about science and warriors and a war of two worlds, and yet… she'd glossed right over all the battles and blood.

Somewhere, a woman like herself might be cowering in a corner, powerless to repel assaults on both her body and mind. Somewhere else, a young man might be fading out, monsters lapping up his blood, just because it's easy and it's cheap. Butchered bodies or butchered memories, the truth bled through as clear as day - they were cattle. There it was again, that inescapable cruelty of her universe - there would always be 'haves' and 'have nots,' and for every weak, fragile happiness, there would be someone more powerful ready to take it away.

"Wow… that is… beyond horrible," whispered Lex, finally putting her thoughts into inadequate words, "Please, tell me you've got some decent leads."

"We do. But it's tough dealing with all the politics and bureaucracy and jurisdictions… We finally gathered enough evidence to pin one down, and he fled to a Dark-Arts friendly state. Here, take a look for yourself," he replied, reaching into an inner pocket of his cloak and returning with a sheet of black-and-white newsprint, "This guy is one of the ringleaders - one of the most rotten eggs of the bunch."

Seth slid the paper along the glazed, wooden countertop and released it right in front of Lex's unfinished Pumpkin Juice. As she leaned over and peered down at the centerpiece of what was evidently a wanted poster, Lex's jaw dropped, slamming painfully onto the counter of unforgiving wood. She was much too busy trying to process and reconfigure her current understanding of both herself and the world, however, to notice the fleeting sting.

For resting there, in black-and-white ink, was a flattering, moving photograph of the state's 'Undesirable No. 2.' Preening and flirting with the camera, the vain, self-assured man had a chiseled jawline and a gleaming weatherman-worthy smile.

" _UNDESIRABLE NO. 2_

 _GIDEON GOLDSTEIN_

 _Wanted for Illegal Practice of the Dark Arts, Trafficking of Controlled Substances, Trafficking of Non-magicals, Murder, Theft, Desecration of Human and Non-human Remains, and Illegal Experimentation on Non-human and Non-magical Subjects_ "

Cold fear strangled her heart and ripped at her throat. As prickling needles of dread spread across her tensed chest and distraught stomach, she quickly snatched another napkin from the table and hacked into its rough, white fibers. She then crumpled the dirty napkin in her useless, shaky hand, too battered by the influx of a myriad confused thoughts, memories, and emotions to notice a stain of pitch-black fluid oozing through the thin paper.


End file.
